


Can't Break the Silence

by Dark_Cyan_Star



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Spelling & Grammar, Hidden Talents, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry, Quidditch, magi, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-17
Updated: 2005-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 100,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Cyan_Star/pseuds/Dark_Cyan_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: REPOST:  LVHP: Harry’s a Magus, the problem is, he doesn’t want that power and desperately tries to hide his talent. Professor Riddle, a rising Dark Lord, sees through him and tries to court Harry away from Quidditch and into Wizarding politics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> !  
> !  
>  Warning!!: This is a REPOST from many years ago. With that being said, the story is not up to my current standards and DOES contain a pile of poor grammar mistakes and typos. You’ve been warned.

**Chapter One**

 

Harry leaned his head on his hand, bored as hell…if not a little frightened. He was always frightened when he entered this class. It’s been this way for six whole years. There wasn’t much he could do to dissipate his fear, considering Defense Against the Dark Arts was required through the end of his years at Hogwarts. 

 

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t _scared_ of Professor Riddle, Merlin no- he wasn’t a Hufflepuff, he was only aware what the man was doing. Being ancient, but looking as if he were in his early thirties, girls swooned him. They literally drooled as they watched him teach up front. What was so special about him anyway? Harry glanced at the professor beneath his thick lashes, assessing Professor Riddle. The man had black, almost blue hair, which was organized neatly on the top of his head. He had sharp cheekbones and prominent facial features- and deep dark eyes.

 

Nothing that special.

 

The professor was a great public speaker, Harry would give him that. Riddle motioned with his hands as he spoke and gave eye contact to seemingly everyone. Speaking of which, dark eyes drilled into him and Harry looked away- bored. He repressed a shiver.

 

Tom Riddle was known greatly throughout the wizarding world. From his charm and his knowledge, the man was almost as popular as the Minister himself. Many of the people wanted Riddle as Minister, but for some reason, the man always turned the position down- preferring to influence the mind of youngsters.

 

Brainwashing more like it.

 

Harry snorted as he remembered Sirius’ take on Professor Riddle. His guardian had told him Riddle was up to no good- conversing with students, especially purebloods and Slytherins- or those that showed a special talent. There had been no war sine Grindelwald, but Sirius thought if the wizarding world were to have another Dark Lord; Riddle would sure take up that position quickly, if he hadn’t already. Harry had to agree, Riddle showed interest and favored those students who shined and he radiated power that seemed to attract other’s attentions.

 

Riddle wasn’t declared Dark by any means- in fact- he seemed to exude a powerful air of light and dangerous magic, no evil magic. And he didn’t teach any Dark Art’s in his class either. No, Riddle was mostly brainwashing the children to favor him, to come to him for problems and such. Harry wasn’t going to fall for Riddle’s charms. Ever. He knew there was something more to Riddle and the wizards and witches he courted on his side. Perhaps a cult or something similar…

 

His parent’s hadn’t liked Riddle either- before they died. They had died together one night on their way home from the Ministry where they had worked. The Ministry examined the murder and claimed it was a rouge wizard, killing out of insanity and physiatrist problems. Rest assured, they arrested Peter Pettigrew and threw him in Azkaban where he was still rotting away. His parents died more than seven years ago just before he entered Hogwarts.

 

And Sirius Black had been taking care of him ever since. The man was no where near a parental figure- more of a big brother, not that Harry was complaining.

 

No matter, Harry planned on running far away from Hogwarts after he was done and joining a professional Quidditch team. No bragging intended, but he was a bloody brilliant Seeker and already got a few offers. He had a good magical gift of dueling and spell casting…among other things, but his head was always in the clouds. Plus, he didn’t want to be in the magical field- he wanted to be far away from all the wizards’ jealousy against being powerful.

 

“Mr. Potter?” Harry blinked and looked up at Professor Riddle. The man looked expectant- waiting for an answer. Brilliant green eyes glanced behind the man’s shoulder, seeing A-D answers to a question. He wondered if that was what the man was asking.

 

“Er…the answer is C, Professor.” Beside him, Ron tipped down his head and his shoulders shook madly. Hermione glared in his direction, rolling her eyes upward as the rest of the class giggled and laughed.

 

Harry gave a grin, looking away from the displeased eyes of the professor. Another consequence of being raised by Sirius was his lack of…well…decency. He was quite popular among Hogwarts, known as the Gryffindor Golden Boy. It wasn’t as if he was complaining, he got a lot of girls that way. Not to mention, they all enjoyed his pranks he pulled with Ron and Ginny. Another trait he inherited over the years from Sirius.

 

“Stay after class, Potter.” Harry rubbed his hair, messing it up. That was all he needed… the man would completely twist his mind. Dark eyes bore into his own for another long moment and Harry shivered. As much as he had been avoiding Riddle, the man always seemed to be watching him, seeing through him.

 

Hermione gave a shake of her head while Ron winked. Harry gave another smirk, finding it amusing he could cause such an uproar with a dumb comment. He was brought back to the last time he pranked Malfoy in the Great Hall. He got pats on the back for an entire week. His back had started to bruise.

 

Harry glanced at the bloody ponce across the room. Malfoy’s nose was permanently stuck in the air as he strutted through the school. The blonde was extremely arrogant…it was rumored that he was receiving special lessons with Riddle on dueling. And _that_ was considered an honor among it all…but not in Harry’s eyes.

 

Sighing, he occupied himself with doodling Quidditch strategies on his parchment. Ron was leaning over, murmuring suggestions in his ear. The red head was the Gryffindor captain- and quite good at it too. They both chuckled darkly as they drew a picture of Malfoy getting struck by lightning and Merlin forbid, his perfect hair flying in every direction. Luckily they finished just as the bell rang. Harry and Ron grinned ear to ear as they folded it into a bird. Cupping the piece of parchment, Harry blew on it, making it fly across the room at Draco.

 

Just as it was about to hit the blonde’s head, the bird was intercepted by Riddle. The man gracefully passed through the aisle, snatching it in mid flight and continuing on his way to the front of the class. “Potter,” Riddle seemed to hiss pleasantly.

 

Ron swallowed and slapped him on the back. “Good luck mate.”

 

Harry stayed in his seat, watching as the Gryffindors and Slytherins all piled out of the room. Green eyes then glanced in Riddle’s direction, watching the man as he slowly erased the material he elegantly scribbled on. “Mr. Potter, up front please.” It was Riddle’s voice, Harry decided. The man had a very…silky and seductive voice. Not that he was _anywhere_ near seduced…Merlin, that would be nasty. The man was old enough to be his grandfather…

 

Disquieting.

 

Gathering his materials and bag, he made his way up to the front of the room. Wandlessly, and quite nonchalantly, Riddle caused a single chair to dance its way in front of his desk. “Sit,” Riddle ordered, dusting off his palms and turning toward Harry.

 

Settling down, Harry sat slouched in his chair, spreading his legs like Sirius always did. His sleeves were already rolled up to his elbows and his tie was unknotted. With his hair in a mess, Harry thought he looked just right for a meeting with the faultless and perfect professor. “So, Professor,” he eyed the man as he sat down gracefully, the same grace a stuck up pureblood would use. The man was like that…so mannered and sophisticated. “What is it this time, detention with Snape? I know you tend to favor giving me detention with that man…” he paused. “Perhaps it because you both enjoy the mindless torture of scrubbing cauldrons until my fingers bleed.”

 

Riddle placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of his face, just staring at Harry. Green eyes stared right back.

 

Tea, all of a sudden, appeared on Riddle’s desk and Harry frowned, well aware of Riddle’s eyes digging a hole through him. “Tea?” Riddle reached out, his fingers tapered and perfect- like the rest of him. It was rather infuriating how the man seemed to carry himself so charmingly and he never seemed to have a fault. It’s what made everyone love him and what made Harry hate him.

 

“Let me guess,” Riddle grabbed the cup delicately and poured the tea within. “You prefer one cube of sugar and quite a few…mind you, a mass of cream.” Harry stared half lidded at Riddle as the professor poured in the cream. “Also the way I prefer it…amazing how we are so similar.”

 

“Just because we drink the same prepared tea, doesn’t mean I’m _anything_ like you.” Harry was insulted and didn’t take the cup from the professor. Riddle gave him an unfathomable look and set down the cup across from him. Harry cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Listen Professor, thanks for the tea and all…but can you just get my punishment over with? I don’t think its right for us…to socialize so much.”

 

Riddle never looked away from him once. Those tapered fingers stirred his own tea and gently laid the spoon on the tray. “Why ever not, Harry?” Harry flinched at his given name. “You and Headmaster Dumbledore ‘socialize’ together quite frequently.”

 

Harry smirked and leaned back again, bobbing his foot up and down. “That’s different, sir. He was a good friend of my parents and tells me about them all the time…he also doesn’t get into the habit of courting the students-,” he cut himself off. He paused, realizing something. Riddle knew the way he liked his tea and his visits with Dumbledore… “Have you been watching me?”

 

Riddle raised his eyebrows. “Does it bother you, Harry?” Harry shut his mouth, putting on his best poker face. “Does it bother you that I’ve been watching you- getting to know you?” Harry remained silent, staring into the window behind Riddle’s shoulder. This was harassment, it had to be. “I see myself in you, Harry. Granted its deep…extremely deep down, but I know you’re hiding that side of you. That Slytherin side.” And this was coming from the Slytherin heir. Everyone knew of this- but it didn’t seem to affect their admiration for the man.

 

“I’m completely Gryffindor, Professor.” Harry said proudly, if not a little bitterly. He remembered how the Hat wanted to place him in Slytherin- he just told Hat he wanted to make his dead parents proud and enter Gryffindor. “Is that what you say to every student, sir?” Harry whispered softly, green eyes drilling into those amused and watchful dark eyes. “Do you honestly think every student wants to be just like you? Mind you, sir, I want to be the exact opposite of you.”

 

Riddle smirked, taking a sip of his tea, seemingly not affected by his words. “Well, you can congratulate yourself on that, Potter. You’re a slob, a cocky bastard, and you act like an idiot.” Harry grimaced, slouching deeper in his chair. “Luckily for you, I can actually _see_ the real you, the Harry that’s underneath all that grime caused by being raised by the filthy Black-,”

 

“Sirius is _not_ filth, either am I-,” Riddle continued as if he wasn’t interrupted.

 

“I know that underneath that cocky smile and rugged behavior of yours- you’re a bloody genius…a powerful wizard.” Hunger shined in Riddle’s eyes and Harry was taken aback. “You’re a _gem_ , Potter, why can’t you just drop your rough façade and embrace your true self?” Riddle placed his cup down rather animatedly and leaned forward. “Is it because of your godfather? His parental skills are lacking, but I’m sure you hold a certain affection for him. Are you afraid he’ll look down on you if you chose to pick up books over brooms?”

 

“Listen, sir-,”

 

“Tell me, Potter, what are your future plans after Hogwarts?” Riddle asked curiously. “Black is actually doing something for himself and being an Auror…”

 

Harry clenched his jaw. “I’m running as far away as I can from Britain and joining a professional Quidditch team as a Seeker.”

 

Riddle stared at him, blinking, and then started to chuckle. “What a _foolish_ waste of talent.” Harry sneered at the man. “You have potential to be great, Harry. A great and _prevailing_ wizard-,”

 

“I prefer not to get into wizard politics.” Harry stood up, grabbing his bag. “Are we done, Sir?”

 

Riddle made a sitting motion with his hands. “No, Potter, sit.” Harry held his tongue and sat down forcibly. “I have a year and a half to change your mind about leaving Britain.” Riddle sat back straight in his chair, eyeing Harry with a lustful expression. “A year…”

 

“It’s going to be a rather long year, Professor, because I have no intention on giving up on Quidditch and joining your little cult.” Riddle blinked at the word ‘cult’ and then the man’s lips twitched upward.

 

“You forget I have authority over you, child. I am a professor, thus, I can order your time and take away privileges if you don’t confide in my rules.” Enjoyment was thick in Riddle’s tone. Harry rubbed his scalp again, glaring.

 

“And you forget I have a good friend in the Headmaster, Professor.” He noticed the man didn’t say anything against the cult. In fact, the man seemed very excited.

 

Riddle leaned back and entwined his fingers again underneath his chin, dark eyes sparkling. “Rather Slytherin of you, child.” Harry gave a huff, standing up once again. “Sit back down, I’m not finished with you.” Green and dark navy dueled. Harry slowly sat down, keeping eye contact. Riddle looked away first, only to dig through the pile of parchments on his desk. He pulled out a large roll, unrolling it and glancing at it. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the upcoming Dueling Tournament, am I correct? Fourth years and up.”

 

Harry gave a sharp nod, his leg bobbing again.

 

“Stop that,” Riddle chided, glaring over the parchment at Harry’s leg. Harry slumped deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “The participants were to sign up- the deadline being yesterday. I’ve seen you pass the bored without so much as a glance and I don’t see your name down.”

 

“Ah,” Harry leaned forward, staring at the man. “That would be because I didn’t _put_ my name down…Sir.” Harry allowed a twisted smile to appear on his lips as Riddle frowned at him.

 

“You will show up tomorrow. I will allow you to participate, despite the deadline.”

 

“I apologize, Professor, but I think I gave you the wrong impression.” Harry started, grinning ear to ear as he watched the man’s jaw clench. “You see, I didn’t put my name down _because_ I didn’t want to go, not because I thought you’d give me special treatment in allowing me to attend.” Harry paused. “Not that I am flattered at your special treatment in me…”

 

“One hundred points from Gryffindor, Potter, and detention tomorrow night with Filch.” Harry gaped. One hundred points? Hermione would have his head. He watched as Riddle stood up, his tall and thin frame seemingly overpowering and reaching the ceiling. “You will never give me that cheek again, do you understand me?” A dangerous glint sparkled in the man’s eyes and Harry had to look away, loosing his cocky behavior.

 

“Yes, Professor.” His jaw clenched. “Let me guess, you want me to attend the Dueling Tournament?” He started to sweat. “But I can’t, Professor Riddle, I really can’t. I hate dueling…”

 

“It will be your punishment then,” Riddle sat back down, his face in a neutral expression. “I will award your one hundred points back if you attend and I am willing to switch your detention with me instead of Flinch.”

 

Harry pushed back against his chair, looking up at the ceiling. His fingers were twitching at the mention of dueling- the one thing he just _couldn’t_ do. He couldn’t. He was a bloody freak when it came to dueling… “No Professor,” green eyes glanced in the man’s direction. Riddle raised an eyebrow. “Really, I _can’t_ duel.”

 

Dark blue eyes stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t duel, Potter? We’ve gone over the technique in class and even I know you paid attention during that lesson-,”

 

Harry shook his head heatedly, not being able to confess his…odd gift to his professor. “No, sir, please…I don’t want to duel. I’ll take the deduction of points and the detention with Filch.” He stood up once again, this time Riddle didn’t stop him. He turned and made his way out the room, feeling those vigilant and knowing eyes on him.

 

“Harry,” he paused in the doorway, his back still facing his professor. “I’ll be expecting you to show up tomorrow.”

 

Harry shut the door behind him.

 

**\--CBS--**

“I can’t wait for the Dueling Tournament…”

 

“Professor Riddle is the _best_ professor at Hogwarts…he’ll do an amazing job hosting the Dueling Tournament.” She giggled. “Hopefully I’ll get a _one_ on _one_ with him…”

 

Harry gagged, watching as they all piled into the Great Hall. Today, presently, was the Dueling Tournament. Hermione and Ginny had all gone in earlier, giggling and whispering to one another about perhaps seeing Riddle in action. It was pathetic. Ron agreed wholeheartedly with him. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had just got done with practice. _Just,_ meaning, a few minutes ago. The whole team was in the locker room, taking showers and becoming fresh.

 

Harry on the other hand was standing in his Quidditch uniform; sweat matted his hair, in front of the Great Hall. He didn’t know what lured him here now.

 

Bright green eyes watched as the doors shut.

 

He knew deep down that he wanted to do this, to prove Riddle he wasn’t…odd. The conversation he had with the professor was incredibly awkward yesterday; he had felt as if it were a dream today. It irked him how the man _thought_ he could see right through him. Harry sneered. He was no Slytherin…

 

Rubbing his head, he slammed his eyes shut. But Riddle was right. He had taken the path he was on now because of who his parents and godfather were. He wanted to make them proud of who he was…he wanted to be the Gryffindor Golden Boy- popular- handsome- outgoing- Quidditch star…prankster… it was all because of them. That and because his parents were murdered out of pure jealousy for their magical talent. If he were to embrace this…this freakish gift he had for dueling, he was frightened it would come up with him. Merlin, he wasn’t afraid of his own life but if he ever had a family, he didn’t want to leave his children like his parents did to him.

 

Biting his bottom lip, he strolled into the Great Hall, opening the doors as quietly as possible. It didn’t matter how quiet he was. Riddle was standing in the middle of the dueling platform, looking as devilishly handsome as usual with his high collared dueling robes. All this robes made it seem as if he were floating when he walked.

 

The man paused in his speech, his eyes suddenly going to Harry’s hesitating form. “Ah, Mr. Potter…I knew you would join us.”

 

Harry gave a grin to those glancing his direction. Hermione and Ginny were frowning at him as he slowly came to a stop in the back beside the two.  His on and off girlfriend grabbed his arm. “I thought you didn’t sign up for this, Harry.” Harry was aware of the fleeting glances from the students and focused on Ginny’s brown eyes.

 

“My punishment from Professor Riddle, I guess.” He turned back to Riddle, listening as he explained the placement of the Tournament. Each year would duel each other for the winner and then the winner of each year would duel one another.

 

Harry tried to avoid the smug looks Riddle sent his direction throughout his speech. He ignored them, trying to think of a way around his freakish curse for dueling. Already, his hands were sweating, thinking of the frightened and sickly awed faces he would get from the students. Not even Ron and Hermione knew of his…talent. Merlin, how could he even call it a ‘talent’? It was a freakish illness he had- almost as bad as the Parseltongue he also hid. But at least he actually heard of people having Parseltongue- like Riddle. He wouldn’t even get into _that_ curse.

 

No, he had never heard of people having what illness he had.

 

He could duel effortlessly. Not just knowing spells easily and tossing them back and forth, no, this was different. This wasn’t like Riddle’s and Dumbledore’s dueling, it was far more different. Harry wasn’t very well educated on what spells did what and how to pronounce them- in fact- he was rather dimwitted on knowing spells. One of the few spells he knew was _Rictusempra_ and _Alohomora_ … it was laughable. But he had a freakish gift that made up for his lack of magic theory knowledge… he could just _think_ of what he wanted to happen and it would.

 

In Transfiguration, he could just think of the object he wanted the goblet to turn and it would turn to that object when he tapped it with his wand. In Charms he could charm objects at will with a single thought…with Defense Against the Dark Arts or Dueling he could just wave his wand and have his victim do a jig…or worse, collapse to the ground with no air in their lungs. He could do anything his mind conjured up- effortlessly. He didn’t even need to think or to annunciate the spell like wizards did for wandless magic.

 

He was a bloody freak. What everyone struggled with, Harry could do easily. At first he thought it was his wand…but when he concentrated harder, he could do things without his wand. Granted, he could only do small things without his wand and his head always ached- but it proved to him that it wasn’t just his wand.

 

He was a _freak._

 

A freak who would rather play Quidditch for a living rather than being studied under a microscope or showing others his curse. “Potter and Malfoy,” Harry blinked, snapping to attention. Around them, the students all jeered at the pairing, grinning from ear to ear. Hermione huffed, glaring at the professor.

 

“He just did that on purpose,” she snapped quietly, pushing a stunned Harry forward. “Go on Harry; show Malfoy you’re not afraid.” Even Hermione was doubtful at his lack of dueling skills; after all, Harry had never showed an interest in studying anymore than he had to. But she didn’t know _why_ he didn’t need to study more.

 

He was walking numbly to the dueling platform, ignoring Riddle and Malfoy totally. Riddle _had_ done this on purpose. Wasn’t the professor training Malfoy in dueling?

 

Merlin, he thought he would have more time to think about how he would cover up his freakish gift. He had come here, hoping to be paired with someone other than Malfoy and then loosing- placing him out of the tournament. It would have been quick and painless, showing Riddle he wasn’t afraid to duel but enough for the man to lay off him. But now that he was dueling Malfoy, things were different.

 

The boy was a bloody git. Just from that smirk the boy was wearing…Harry reconsidered his ‘loss’.

 

He stopped on the platform, nearing Malfoy and Riddle- who was standing in the middle of the platform. “Your wand, Potter?” Riddle asked softly, causing the Slytherins to laugh when he blinked. Oh, his wand…he might need that to look a little less…

 

Merlin. He was stupid.

 

He patted down his crimson robes, knowing he had put that piece of wood _somewhere._ The laughs grew in intensity and Harry grinned with them, knowing that the Gryffindors were now laughing, teasing him lightly. Riddle looked far from amused as Harry causally pulled the wand from his waistband of his pants. “Ah, here it is,” he grinned, throwing the man a smirk.

 

“Your so bloody stupid, Potter.” Malfoy sneered, his wand already at the ready. “Your head must be in the clouds permanently.”

 

“And I suppose all that hair gel makes you more of a bloody ponce, Malfoy.” Gryffindor’s laughed, cheering him on as Harry leaned forward, tapping his wand against the boy’s head. He resisted the temptation of turning the hair red and gold. Perhaps in the duel would suffice.

 

“Bow to one another,” Riddle snapped. “I find your little charade pathetic.” Malfoy paled at his professor’s disproval and hurriedly bowed. Regrettably, Harry calmly bowed back, minding his own business, when Malfoy’s head slammed into his face.  

 

He gave a cry, holding his nose. The blonde’s face was crimson as Harry pushed the boy away from him. “And _I’m_ the stupid one…” Recovering from the pain in his nose, Harry turned his back on Malfoy, swaggering arrogantly to the end of the platform, and then twirling back around to face the blonde. His body was slightly in the dueling position. One look from Hermione’s exasperated face told Harry he didn’t really look professional.

 

Malfoy spread his legs apart and crouched down low, ready to strike.

 

Harry wondered what he would do. “One,” Riddle started, stepping back near the safety zone. “Two,” he supposed he could pretend to be saying a spell. Not every wizard yelled out their curse. If he could just move his lips, in a small mumble, it would be fine enough- wouldn’t it? “Three,” Harry blinked as Malfoy shot a curse at him. But his surprise turned into amusement as the spell missed its target and hit behind him.

 

He twirled his wand, crinkling his eyes as he faced a fuming Malfoy. The blonde shot another spell and this time, the curse just barely brushed his robes. “ _Do_ something, Potter!” Malfoy spat, his face crimson.

 

“Why would I have to do anything if you can’t even hit a still target?” Harry taunted softly, grinning ear to ear. And here Harry thought Malfoy was getting extra training from Riddle.

 

Giggles spread through the hall and Malfoy growled, snapping his wrist and shouting a spell Harry did not recognize. He began to sweat when he realized the spell was straight on. Moving his wand, almost unconsciously, he brought up a powerful looking shield by murmuring something akin to ‘Quidditch.’ Merlin, if he wasn’t going into Quidditch in his future, he probably would have looked up certain spells. But studying didn’t come easy to him; he’d rather just _do it_. And he could…no studying needed.

 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Riddle watching him intentionally. He tried not to dwell on what the professor was thinking and focused on throwing a spell toward Malfoy. He pictured the spell going through Malfoy’s shield and knocking the boy backwards.

 

Sure enough, it happened. Rather bitterly, he watched the blonde swoop backward, hitting the floor hard on his back. Harry’s stomach twisted in tight knots and he felt regret about doing this stupid duel. It wasn’t until he was left unaware that Malfoy spat back his own curse. Harry chose not to block it, figuring he should at least look halfway normal. But he wasn’t expecting Malfoy to throw a curse that would slice open his arm.

 

Robes tearing, the thick cut swelled and started to drip his blood down his palms and fingertips and eventually to the floor. Harry grimaced, green eyes blazing as they looked at an amused and excited Malfoy. Rage clouded Harry’s head and he snapped his own curse back at the boy… hopefully a curse that would make the boy feel as if he were balancing on a thin wire over a long and dangerous drop.

 

The face Malfoy made was hilarious.

 

The blonde scrunched up his face, his mouth open in a horror-struck scream. He went on his tiptoes, his arms waving back and forth for balance, and he tried to walk backward. Laughter boomed across the hall, but Harry wasn’t amused… his wand waved once more- muttering bullshit- and made that invisible wire snap.

 

Draco screamed, his pupils dilated. The blonde dropped his wand and started to fall on his face. He was yelling, looking dismayed and horrified. The front of Malfoy’s robes became wet and Harry blinked, realizing what he was doing was _cruel._ No, it was pitiless and malicious. All around him, the students were hushed, staring at him with that look he _knew…_

 

“Merlin,” Harry whispered, glancing at Riddle. What he saw there made him step back.

 

The professor had a lustful look on his face, gazing at Harry with…swirling crimson eyes. Harry swallowed, realizing he had just done something- something that would cost him everything.

 

He just wished…he wished…

 

He pointed his wand at the ceiling, imagining time frozen. He slammed his tearful eyes shut, hoping beyond hope, that his freakish curse would work. His wand trembled in his hand, becoming warm and then it stopped.

 

Watery green eyes opened, staring in amazement at what he did. Malfoy was inches from falling on his face, his grey eyes wide with unimaginable horror and his pants damp. Looking into the crowd, he saw most the students watching Malfoy with a bemused expression while some had frightened and amused faces. Hermione, among only a selected few students, were watching Harry with an unrecognizable expression. It looked like a cross between uncertainty and disappointment.

 

Harry couldn’t have this.

 

Quickly, with his wand, he moved Malfoy into a starting position once again, drying his pants. He moved Hermione at the other end of the platform, to make it look as if Hermione and Malfoy were about to duel. Slowly stepping off the platform, he took a deep breath, wondering if this would work. He had never done an _oblivate,_ but what if he just imagined the students forgetting about him entering the Tournament and the incident.... and in replace, Hermione and Malfoy were the first contenders?

 

He swirled his wand, hoping it would work. All the while, his stomach was ready to vomit at what he was doing. He vowed _never_ to use this freakish gift again. Ever.

 

Pointing his wand high above him, he erased the incident from their minds, including Professor Riddle. He wouldn’t know if he was successful until time unfroze again, but it was worth a shot.

 

Harry blended in with the crowd, anxious to see how it worked out. If this worked, he promised his vow would stay true and he wouldn’t do this ever again…but if it didn’t work, he would use the freakish gift once more to run the hell out of the wizarding world. What would the wizards and witches think of him? There would be killing attempts, jealousy, courting, fake friendship, more enemies… he couldn’t do it. 

 

He was so uptight about if his plan would work, that he didn’t notice crimson eyes following each step of his. Riddle was still frozen in place, but his mind was active, watchful….

 

Harry bit his lip, hiding in the shadows and unfroze time. The Hall seemed to shake and a bright light flashed- causing Harry to slam his eyes shut. When he opened them, he witnessed Hermione and Malfoy dueling and the students cheering their respected housemate on.

 

Stomach still tight, Harry opened the door a sliver, and snuck out.

 

Crimson eyes following.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

 

Throwing water on his face, Harry was gasping like a drowned cat. Flashes of the horrified Malfoy blinked in rapid session through his mind. He could never do that again. The blonde was completely under his mercy…and it had felt wonderful. Which is why he could _never_ us that freakish gift again.

 

How could he be so stupid? Why _was_ he stupid? The only thing he was good at- the only thing he should be dong- is Quidditch. No more dueling, no more taunting, and definitely no cruel spells. He thought back to the way he could so easily influence his classmate’s minds. Just _one_ wave of his wand, just _one_ thought, and they were spellbound. It twisted his stomach. 

 

Harry threw water in his mouth and stopped breathing. Brilliant green eyes looked into the mirror, water droplets blurring his vision. He looked like a pathetic drowned cat. His normally bronzed skin looked pasty and his wild dark hair was dripping into his face. He leaned forward, still holding his breath, and looked deep inside the mirror. He _looked_ normal. Despite being short for his age and rather lean, he was normal…not full of handsome muscle…not full of rugged facial hair…nothing that would indicate that he has this curse inside his body.

 

Pupils dilating, he felt his lungs contracting without air. His wet fingers tightened on the equally wet sink, squeezing. Black dots crossed his vision and his knees trembled. He could easily kill himself. Ever since he realized he carried this disease inside him, he had come up with numerous ways to kill himself. His curse allowed him to cut off air to his lungs, to squeeze any artery, to puncture his lungs… he could do anything…

 

Holding his breath longer, he thought dying without the aid of his curse would be far better than using the reason for his problems to end it all. Veins in his neck started to pulse and strain against his skin. Harry dipped down near the drain, pulling at his hair, crying. This was for the better…wasn’t it?

 

How could he _do_ what he did? He knew if he were to use the curse again, he could never stop. He would never stop until everyone was under his spell.

 

Pipes burst all around him, toilet water flew in the air like a waterfall and porcelain seats cracked. The sink underneath his fingers trembled and exploded, sending him collapsing to the ground. Glass from the mirror pierced his skin. Eventually the water in his mouth was no longer needed as his lungs and brain gave out.

 

The last conscious thought he had was that Sirius would be disappointed. He wondered if Sirius would be more disappointed if he knew about Harry’s curse or about the suicide.

 

Water leaked from his mouth and pooled underneath his cheek.

 

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His strength was getting better; he could feel himself regain his powers.

 

Dark eyes slipped open, well aware there was a machine helping him breathe. Merlin, what would Harry think of him if he saw him like this? Prongslet wouldn’t have to worry, he would get better shortly. Just the thought of Harry spread love and warmth across his body, making him even stronger.

 

Rather suddenly, the machine next to his bed stopped working. Stormy grey eyes widened and his lungs shuddered. The last thing he saw before he slipped away was a dark figure pointing his wand toward his life saving machine.

 

_“I love you Prongslet.”_

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Harry opened his eyes, wearily. As he predicted, he was in the hospital. “Merlin…” he moaned, his head aching.

 

“Mr. Potter,” Harry opened his eyes, seeing the three professors standing over him. Dumbledore, Riddle, and McGonagal all stared down at him.  “How are you feeling?” Dumbledore murmured softly. Harry closed his eyes again, hoping the next time he would open them they would-,

 

No, he wouldn’t hope for anything. Merlin… “Fine,” he whispered; his voice hoarse. Would they wonder why he tried to kill himself? Would they tell Sirius? Merlin, he couldn’t handle all this. “What happened?” He asked innocently, trying to avoid Riddle. The man just reminded him of what he did in the Dueling Hall.

 

“Professor Riddle found you in the bathroom, Harry.” Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows and Harry frowned. “He explained to us that he heard a commotion from the bathroom and found you injured.”

 

Harry gave a deep breath. “I can explain, Headmaster, really I can-,”

 

The old Headmaster held a wrinkled hand up, kind blue eyes glittering down at him. Harry hesitated. The man didn’t seem angry or disappointed, only understanding showed through. “You don’t need to explain, Harry. Professor Riddle banished the ghost that caused the destruction. She goes by the name of Moaning Myrtle. You and your classmates might have heard of her spirit haunting the bathrooms.” The man gave a sad smile and Harry blinked.

 

He refused to look at Riddle. Either Riddle knew what happened and was covering for him or Myrtle just appeared after Harry magically destroyed the bathroom. “You’ve been healed by Madame Promfrey and are free to leave whenever you feel up to it.” Dumbledore glanced at McGonagal. “However, there is something we must discuss with you privately.”

 

Harry’s chest constricted and he sat up against the pillows. He witnessed his Head of House frowning deeply, but her eyes held pity. “What is it?” Harry wheezed, sitting forward. “Is it Sirius? Did something happen to him?” He thought of the worst and from Dumbledore’s face, his own face paled and then turn a brilliant red. Tears began to collect in his eyes and McGonagal laid a hand on his shoulder for comfort.

 

“Harry, Sirius was attacked during one of his Auror missions.” Dumbledore took a deep breath, his face shaken and grey. “He was in critical condition for a few days.”

 

Harry had his head bowed down to his lap but it shot up at the man’s words. “Was? Why didn’t you _tell_ me he was dying? He’s dead now, isn’t he?”

 

Dumbledore pressed his lips into a thin line, surveying him. McGonagal spoke up. “Harry,” her tender hands brushed back the fringe of his hair in a motherly gesture. “Sirius was in a magical coma for the last three days. He had heart failure in surgery. He passed away today.” Harry stared at her in absolute horror.

 

“I know this is a shock to you, Harry-,”

 

“You have no idea,” Harry spoke brokenly, numbly. He knocked away her hand and focused on the wall in front of him. He ignored them all, even when Dumbledore was murmuring something soothing to him. He drew in on himself, his pupils overpowering his green irises. All he was aware of was a small box around him. They were all invisible to him.

 

All he could see was Sirius sitting across from him.

 

_“Why did you leave me?”  Harry asked, crying softly. “How could you leave me? You promised me, Sirius. You promised you would stay with me.”_

_The handsome man across from him gave a soft smile- the only smile Harry would ever describe as not mischievous. “As much as I would love to stay with you until you grew old and wrinkly, I suppose I was needed someplace else, Harry.” Dark grey eyes stared at him, drinking his small frame up in a fatherly air about him. “I’m so proud of you, prongslet.”_

_Harry shook his head, denying Sirius’ words. “You wouldn’t be proud of me, Sirius.” His godfather’s hand reached over and wrapped his smaller hand into a comforting hold. His skin was warm, sending calming vibes across Harry. “I’ve been hiding so much from you…” Harry broke off, a tear falling from his long lashes and onto their clasped hands._

_“No matter what you are, Harry, I could never be disappointed in you. Your parents and I raised you as well as we could. You’ve turned out to be such a strong willed young man.” Sirius words were gentle and strong, shaking Harry even more._

_“You don’t understand, Sirius.” Harry argued, desperate to hold onto his godfather longer. They were torn away so quickly… “I have a darkness inside me. I have a power that could destroy everything in my path.”_

_“And yet, you don’t use it to destroy, Harry. It may overpower you someday and you may give in and use this power you fear- but I know you’ll never destroy the world. Instead, you’ll use it to do the right thing in life.” The man paused, his hand tightening around his own. “The most important thing to remember, Harry, is if you believe in what your doing- your doing everything right.” The man started to fade and Harry perked up, lunging himself in his godfather’s arms._

_The man hugged back fiercely, protectively. Tears ran down Harry’s face, staining the raven head next to him. “I love you, Sirius.”_

_“And you, prongslet…never forget that.”_

The warm hold on Sirius vanished and Harry was brought back to his position in the hospital wing. He found himself still staring at the opposite wall. But this time, he had tears crawling slowly down his skin, claiming his cheeks in wet trails. Dumbledore was still talking, reassuring him that everything would be alright. But it wouldn’t be.

 

“I need to be alone right now,” Harry spoke stoically.

 

Time seemed to slow as the three professors left and closed the curtain around his bed.

 

He didn’t understand what just happened. He wished it were his power, giving him one last time with Sirius- despite how short it was. But he had a feeling it was just his wild and pained imagination, configuring up an image of Sirius. He had conjured up the image… where he confessed his secret to Sirius- the only secret he had- and the man accepted him. It’s what he wished. He never got a chance to confide in his godfather on that secret.

 

And it broke his heart, knowing he could never confide in Sirius again.

 

Harry tried to keep from crying. He was, after all, almost seventeen… but the image of Sirius popped in his head again. The man’s impish smile, the dimples and wild hair- the man was everything to him. Sirius had always been a prankster and a trouble maker, but he had always been somber when the situation called for it. During his parent’s death, Sirius had stayed up with him all night, holding him. The man had put up with his temper tantrums and gave him ice cream after…he had terrible parental skills but he was an unbelievable friend and brother.

 

Heart constricting, Harry started to cry. Tears blurred his vision again and he buried his face in his pillow. The slow tears slowly turned into sobs that racked his small frame.

  
This time, Sirius wouldn’t be here to hold him all night.

 

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He went on autopilot the next few days. The term was almost over and summer vacation would start shortly. The finals came and went- Harry not giving a damn. His marks would probably be terrible but who needed good grades in order to get on a Quidditch team?

 

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had all been very supportive of him. Whenever he wanted to be alone- they would leave. Whenever he wanted to sit quietly with them- they would all study or do their homework in silence or perhaps a game of chess. The professors had all given him pitying looks, save for Snape and Riddle, and had seemed to lay off him in class. Except when the exams came through. Harry hadn’t studied and he hadn’t cared. They were all probably disappointed in him.

 

He couldn’t find the heart to feel guilty.

 

Sirius’ funeral would be the first day of summer vacation. It worked perfectly for Harry. His plan was all set in motion…

 

Tired green eyes folded the official parchment and placed it in his robes. All he had to do was request it from Dumbledore and everything would be alright, or, as close as it would come to. The English Quidditch team of the Falmouth Falcons had offered him a spot as their starting Seeker. Other teams had as well, but the Falmouth Falcons were Sirius’ favorite team for their brutal and rather sadistic play. Harry had contacted the owner and captain and accepted the deal.

 

He would be starting this summer. And he would be leaving for training camp the day of Sirius’ funeral. He hadn’t told any of his friends, but he would think they would be supportive of him…especially Ron who would be ecstatic to get free tickets.

 

“Lemon drops,” Harry ordered softly from the gargoyle. It sprang open, the stone steps swirling upward to the Headmaster’s thick wood door. “Here goes nothing.”

 

Knocking on the door, Dumbledore called him in by name. Harry faltered when he opened the door and saw Riddle sitting across from the old man. Professor Riddle never seemed to take a liking to Dumbledore and it was odd seeing the two converse. What he didn’t know is that they both had a common interest. Him.

 

“Ah, Harry, we were just discussing you.” Harry blanched and looked at a collective Riddle. The man hadn’t talked to him privately since that day in his office- before everything had spiraled out of control. His confidence grew- assuring him the spell worked on Riddle. Dark eyes locked into his own.

 

“Really, Headmaster?” His fingers caressed the silken parchment from the Falcons.

 

“A Mr. Chase contacted me this morning and gave me the most interesting news,” Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose and he laced his fingers together underneath his beard. Harry grimaced, hoping he would be the first to discuss this with Dumbledore before the owner contacted him. “He tells me that you’ve accepted a contract to play Seeker for their team. The most interesting part is that it starts this summer and continues.”

 

Harry gave a nod. “Yes sir, I had hoped I could have discussed this first with you…” he trailed off glancing a watchful Riddle. “They gave me a really good deal, sir. I get excellent pay-,”

 

“I’m not worried so much about the pay, Harry.” Harry took a deep breath, knowing where this was going. “What bothers me is that you will not be coming back to school next year…or your last year.”

 

“But sir, Mr. Chase is offering to give me a tutor- to learn the material I would be missing.” Harry paused. “And he’d pay for it too.” He added quickly after seeing Dumbledore’s doubtful face. “You know how much I want this-,”

 

“That is not the point, Mr. Potter.” Riddle jumped in this time, stirring his tea. From his position, Harry could see the tea was loaded with cream. “Your exams this year were rather…disappointing. How can we think you would do acceptable when your on the road, learning?” Of course Riddle wouldn’t be for this- the man had told Harry he would have a year to change his choice of joining Quidditch. It probably came to a shock that he didn’t have a year any longer.

 

Dumbledore gave a nod, shuffling through some papers on his desk. Over the rim of his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore’s lips twitched downward. “A ‘D’ in Herbology,” Harry winced, scowling as he realized the Headmaster held his grades. “…an ‘E’ in Potions and Care of Magical Creatures- which is your best grade on this sheet, Mr. Potter. Let’s see here…” Harry’s face was becoming crimson. He hadn’t used his abnormal power during the exams- resulting in poor results. He knew…but he hadn’t been bothered then.

 

“A ‘P’ in Charms, ‘D’ in Defense Against the Dark Arts, ‘A’ in History of Magic, a Dreadful in Transfiguration, and you received a Troll in Divination…” Dumbledore trailed off and set the parchment back on his desk, staring disappointingly at Harry. “In short, Harry, you failed sixth year.”

 

Harry bit his lip, looking out the window behind Dumbledore. “You don’t understand, Headmaster. I _need_ this. I will never be Hermione or top of my class. School doesn’t appeal to me in the least, I don’t need it. All I want to do is fly free- to leave this world behind.”

 

“I think, Harry, that you’re jumping on the broom rather quickly. What happened to Sirius was a hard hit to take…but it is no reason to go off and do something reckless like this. Both your parents and Sirius were great wizards who had good working jobs with a well education-,”

 

“And look at where that got them,” Harry interrupted bitterly. “I am not my father, sir. I have a gift-,”

 

“Yes you do have a gift.” Riddle started again giving Harry an intent look. “A gift that should be explored and expanded under careful hands.”

 

Harry remained quiet, glaring at he the man, not knowing what he was talking about. “I have a gift for Quidditch, _Headmaster_.” He directed his attention on Dumbledore.  “It’s what I want to do in life.” He saw Dumbledore slowly giving in and his heart soared. “I’ll promise you Headmaster Dumbledore that during my tutorage on the road, my grades will be an Acceptable or better. If not, I’ll come back to Hogwarts.”

 

Dumbledore stared at him deeply, searching him. Harry held his eyes, showing him his will and determination- hoping beyond hope that the man would allow him to escape Hogwarts. “Alright Harry,” Riddle spluttered, hissing in displeasure. Harry tried not to grin. “I will allow this, because I know how much it means to you.” 

  
“Headmaster,” Riddle purred dangerously. “Special treatment in a student…so unlike you...” The man turned to look at him, his blue/black hair shifting in his eyes. In those dark eyes, Harry found a dangerous promise. A promise to take him- to possess him fully.

 

Harry turned away from him and gave Dumbledore a bright smile. “Thank you, sir, I’ll never forget this.” He started to back out of the room, watching a gentle smile grace Dumbledore’s lips.

 

The man gave him a nod, eyes sparkling. “If it makes you this happy, child, so be it. I wish you the best.” Harry nodded, a special bond between them showing. Riddle gave a disgusted hiss, setting his tea cup down and standing. “Don’t forget to write, Harry.”

 

“I won’t Headmaster, I won’t.” He gave the man one last smile before disappearing down the spiral steps.

 

The final match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw would be today- and Mr. Chase along with the Falcon’s captain would be attending- holding a small press conference and the contract signing after the game. He hadn’t been this excited since before Sirius died.

 

Before he could hurry down to the locker rooms to change into his uniform, a hand struck out and curled rather forcibly around his arm. Sucking in a surprised breath, Harry turned to see Professor Riddle behind him. “One hundred points awarded to Gryffindor,” with that, Riddle deliberately brushed shoulders with him.

 

Harry stood there, dumbfounded, until he realized why Riddle awarded him one hundred points.

 

 _“I will award your one hundred points back if you attend and I am willing to switch your detention with me instead of Filch.”_ He hadn’t served any detention with Filch or Riddle due to Sirius’ death, but… by getting one hundred points back…

 

Riddle knew.

 

He somehow got passed Harry’s spell and was able to remember the Dueling Tournament.

 

“No, professor!” Harry ran after the fast man, his heart pounding heavily. “Please, Professor Riddle! _Stop,_ ” Harry breathed, reaching out to grab the older man’s richly sewn cloak.

 

Riddle turned and Harry stepped back uncertainly. There _was_ something dangerous about Riddle, just from the man’s intense expression- Harry figured Riddle was not like this in front of or around Dumbledore. “You’re a Magus,” aristocratic fingers reached out and clutched each of his small biceps. The students crossing their path hesitated at seeing the unlikely pair so physically close. Because it _was_ odd. Professor Riddle never held any special attention to Harry Potter and Harry Potter had always disrespected Professor Riddle.

 

The professor regretfully let go and instead pinched his cloak sleeve and dragged him down the hall. Harry remained silent, not knowing what to do around a Riddle like this. The man’s aura had spiked and caressed his skin, but it seemed to dissipate slightly as the man seemed to get himself under control.

 

Once Harry was pulled into Riddle’s office, the door slammed shut behind him. The student took it upon himself to slump against the door, grimacing at Riddle’s passionate stare. “A War Magus…they are incredibly rare, so… _pleasing_ and desirable.” He was whispering but it sounded lethal and dripped of underhanded intentions.

 

“Don’t tell anyone, please.” He quietly placed away the word ‘Magus’ in his head for later. He finally received a name for his…disease. He wasn’t even human- he was a damned magical creature.

 

Riddle’s eyes seemed to take a crimson light again and Harry pressed himself firmly against the door. “You haven’t told anyone? Not even Dumbledore or your _friends_?” His silence was answer enough and Riddle seemed delighted. “What you have, Harry, is a gift- why must you see it in bad light?”

 

“Because it _is_ ,” Harry hissed angrily. “I _hate_ it, it’s dangerous and dark. It will only get me in trouble.” Green eyes watched Riddle start to pace, his eyes bloodshot. Even if he seemed agitated, Harry could see the pleased tension in the man’s shoulders. “Don’t even _think_ about trying to get me under your hands because it won’t happen. I’m going away, playing Quidditch, and that is that.” He paused watching as the man kept his back to him. “I would appreciate you keeping this between us…”

 

Harry slowly opened the door and backed out, the man’s thin shoulders still facing him. “You haven’t seen the last of me,” Riddle whispered lustfully.

 

“I know.”

 

With that, Harry turned his heel and hurried away from the menacing man.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 

Cool gold chilled his fingers as he held the flapping Snitch up for the crowd to see. They all burst out in cheers and there were some flashing from the press. Harry needed to get used to the cameras if he would become a Quidditch player.

 

He grinned, coming lower to the ground until his tiptoes brushed the grass of the pitch. This was his last official game as a student at Hogwarts. He was right in assuming Ron was the most ecstatic one out of his friends when he told Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. Ginny had been gloomy the rest of the day and Hermione had given him a lecture about leaving school a year early. Harry just pointed out to her that he had failed sixth year and didn’t feel like going through the same year once again. She had shut up after that, staring at him in horror for _failing._

 

Ron cheered, coming down from his position near the goals and tackling him off his broom and into a playful hug. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team came down upon them, patting Harry on the back and smiles strained their face. Harry laughed but it faltered when he spotted the empty spot that was usually occupied. Sirius’ normal spot near the Gryffindor box was empty.

 

The rest of the celebration came to a blur to him. He tried to act happy but his smile was strained and forced. The Quidditch Cup was presented to him and he passed it onto Ron. The red head beamed, holding it up for the school to see.

 

Rather cloudily, Harry was pulled along toward the press. There, he saw a rather plump man with another, very handsome male. They were both watching his arrival, smiling in welcoming. “Ah, Mr. Potter,” the plump man stuck out his hand and Harry shook it. “I’m the owner of Falmouth Falcons, Cory Chase and this here is Orion Strider, the big bad captain.” Cory Chase had slicked back brown hair and a heavy goatee. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle underhandedly while his belly tensed against his dark grey cloak. Harry was oddly reminded of one of those muggle mob bosses.

 

Orion, on the other hand, was incredibly handsome. He had a complete athletic body- far more muscular than Harry could ever hope to be. Whereas Harry was average height and lithe, Orion was tall and muscular. His hair was a soft black, tied at the nape of his neck. Silver eyes assessed Harry’s own body, sizing him up. “It’s a pleasure,” Harry shook the owners hand and then the captain’s hand.

 

“You had some great moves out there, Harry; I look forward to having you on my team.” Orion grinned ear from ear, his dimples showing. If Harry had taken interest in males, he would have been stuttering and blushing like a girl…good thing he only saw women as ‘beautiful’.

 

“I look forward to playing with you,” Harry replied back, slightly on guard as a swarm of people crowed around them. His eyes were starting to get slightly fuzzy with all the flashes of light from the press. “Tell me you get used to all the black dots in front of your eyes.” Harry pleaded with the two men.

 

Orion laughed, handing him a cloak. “I’m afraid not, Harry.” Blinking at the cloak, Harry realized it was a Falcon cloak. It was white with a single dark grey strip down the arms. Taking off his Gryffindor Quidditch cloak, he threw it over his gear, slightly shaky with all the attention.

 

Mr. Chase’s hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it. “I’m pleased to welcome a new addition to our team. He’s an excellent Seeker and will bring our team to the next level…” Chase went on to the press about Harry’s ‘greatness’ while Harry was positioned between the two men.

 

He let his eyes wander and they immediately locked with the man he didn’t want to think about at the moment. Professor Riddle stood among the crowd, yet he seemed to be the center of attention for Harry. There seemed to be an invisible light shining on him, bringing Harry’s eyes straight away over. He stood there, watchful, with Lucius Malfoy by his side. Riddle was frowning, yet he looked thoughtful- almost if he were trying to think of a plan to stop Harry from leaving.

 

Riddle was one of the major reasons Harry was leaving. The professor was a mystery…a precarious mystery. He didn’t trust the man’s motives…he knew there was something underneath the professor persona; a powerful man with a charming smile and a seductive tone.

 

Dark eyes met his and Riddle slowly gave a large smirk.

 

Harry’s breath stopped and a flash of light blinded him. He blinked, finding Riddle walking away with Lucius by his side and a contract thrust in his face.

 

He took the floating quill, more resolved than ever, and signed the contract.

 

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Riddle tightened his cloak around his thin frame, glancing behind his shoulder at the small celebration. More importantly, his gaze was on the powerful Gem.

  
“Lucius,” he hissed softly.

 

“My Lord?” Lucius’ voice was respectful and quiet- not wanting to be overheard.

 

“I have a task for you,” Riddle turned his back on Potter, hands clutching in desire. “I think the Falmouth Falcons will be going bankrupt.” Dark eyes watched as Lucius glanced back at Potter, understanding flooding his features. “I think a good twenty thousand Galleons will do the trick, don’t you? But keep the money, I need it to buy a certain…” he paused, looking at Potter. “ _Gem_ back.”

 

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“Your goals are far too dangerous,” the voice advised and Tom cringed, sneering.

 

“And where would I be without you, Salazar?” Ruby eyes stared at the talking portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The founder was staring at Tom with his bright green eyes- the same damned eyes his Gem had.

 

“I’ve gotten you far, Riddle,” Salazar hissed out, sniping. “If I remember correctly, you wanted to start your path of the Dark Lord when you were barely in your twenties. I got you this teaching job and I stopped you from making the Horcruxes. Consequently, in answer to your question, you would be an insane maniac without a single logical thought running through your head right now. Without me, you wouldn’t have had all the supporters you do now. Just look at what you’ve accomplished. Most of your past students follow you and follow your dreams…don’t let this…this Magus ruin you.”

 

“I am an adult now, Salazar, I understand my desires now. I _want_ him,” Riddle closed the heavy tomb and brushed off the dust on his cloak. “His power…is unimaginable. Our side would no doubt succeed with him by my side.”

 

“From what I heard from you, his power is wild. You cannot _tame_ a Magus, Riddle. What you’re thinking is reckless.”  Tom shook his head, not sparing the portrait a glance. “The boy is far mature for his years for hiding away, for hiding his powers.”

 

“I think he’s an idiot,” Riddle shot back swiftly, staring down at the dusty and thick tombs covering his desk. They were all about Magi.

 

“Magi were rare even when I was alive, boy. They can only be trained by their own kind. The boy is probably the only one of his kind-,”

 

“He is,” Riddle agreed. “There are no other Magi out there. But I am the closest to his power strength; I can _tame_ him…train him, Salazar. It may take awhile but his power will get under control with my help.” There came no arguments from Salazar and Tom knew the man thought he was correct. He was the only one close enough to Potter’s power to train him and protect himself at the same time. Magi had destructive power when it wasn’t tame but when it was tame- only wonders could happen.

 

“He’ll destroy himself,” Salazar pointed out unnecessarily, grasping desperately for anything to change Tom’s mind. “You say he’s afraid of his own power, Riddle, isn’t that sign enough?”

 

“He’s already tried to kill himself. I’ve stopped him before, I can do it again. I will do anything to bring down the Ministry and the light, Salazar, and that includes a challenge.” He paused, looking up at the frowning man. “And you know how much I enjoy challenges.”

 

“I want to see the boy, face to face.”

 

“So be it,” Riddle agreed. “You are curious just as much as I am if we can complete this challenge, Salazar, don’t deny it. And you’re power hungry- you would be doing the same thing if you were in my position.”  

 

Salazar just grunted. “Have you decided when you are going to come out to the world?”

 

A large smirk graced Tom’s features.

 

“Soon,” sliding his finger down the dusty tomb, his crimson eyes glowed. “As soon as I get my Gem in my possession.”

 

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He had a bag swung across his back and he was covered in layers of cloaks. This was all he was taking with him. All his other possessions were still in Sirius’ manor. He had inherited the Black name and all the Black possessions… _he_ was Head Black now. Ordering the house elves to keep things clean and to keep the public out, Harry had left with his broomstick and bag. Hopefully, if things went according to plan, he wouldn’t need to come back. He would spend the rest of his life, traveling with his team. He would be able to see his friends when he played close to home…that was all he needed. He wouldn’t need to cast any magic or anything.

 

Perfect.

 

Dumbledore held custody over him until he turned seventeen…which was in less than two months. The man had been gracious enough to allow him to leave Hogwarts and be tutored from a man the Falcons provided. Granted, the man wanted him to write to him and on occasion, the Headmaster would be showing up unannounced to see how things were going. But Harry could deal with that.

 

Currently, he was standing on a hill- overlooking Sirius’ funeral. He had cried, thankful to be away from all those who attended. Sirius had been popular. Being a handsome bachelor and a powerful Auror, he had many friends and associates. Harry just wasn’t in the mood to accept sympathies from strangers.

 

Leaning against his bag, he watched numbly as the casket was lowered. It wasn’t until the mound of dirt was covered and the guests started to walk away when Harry stood up himself and started to make his way down the hill. His broom was strapped onto his back along with his bag and in his hand; he held a single white rose.

 

He zigzagged his way through the other graves and came to a stop before the freshly dug grave. He was well aware of the three figures standing behind him, but for Sirius and in respect for Harry, they remained silent.

 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, gazing unseeingly at the mound of dirt that covered his godfather. “Harry…” she spoke behind him, hesitantly. “Are you alright?”

 

Turning to Ginny, he looked past her to see an equally worried Ron and Hermione. The wind tugged at their hair and their black robes. “No, Ginny, I’m not alright…” he looked back at the grave and gently laid down the rose. “But I think I will be. Sirius wouldn’t want me mourning his death. He’d want me to go out and celebrate a life without an overbearing guardian.” He grinned, remembering that Sirius had written those exact words to him in his will.

 

It _would_ be Sirius to say that…

 

He turned his back on Sirius’ grave, sending out a silent goodbye and a promise to return.

 

“When are you leaving?” Ginny pestered; her eyes full of sorrow. Harry felt slightly guilty and paused. He took her hands in his own and kissed her knuckles.

 

“I’m leaving now, Ginny. But I promise we’ll see each other…I already gave Ron the tickets for our first game at home…and I’ll write to you.” She gave him a smile, hiding her tears.

 

“I’ll wait for you, Harry.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Harry smiled into the kiss, bringing his hands up to cup her face. As she pulled back, Harry stroked her cheek once more and turned to leave. He had a heavy heart, but he knew what he was doing was right.

 

“Hermione…Ron…” he grinned hugging Ron and then turning to Hermione. She sniffed, her nose red and eyes puffy from crying; whether if was about Sirius’ death or his departure, Harry didn’t know. She threw her arms around him, hugging him close.

 

“Have fun, Harry and be smart.” She kissed his cheek and he nodded, trying to be strong and stand tall.

 

“Make sure you send us a bunch of free stuff,” Ron remarked. Hermione hit his arm and Harry laughed.

 

“You’re my biggest fan, Ron.” He paused in his retreat and turned to look at the three who stood side by side, watching him leave. This was for the best. They would have been his first victims to control…and who knew? Perhaps he was unconsciously controlling them to be his friends. No, he knew he wasn’t… but he was afraid of the outcome of staying around the ones he loved the most. “I’ll miss you all, don’t forget to write,” he used Dumbledore’s parting words and turned his back for the last time.

 

He didn’t look back in fear of loosing his control. He did hear Hermione start crying and Ron comforting her and it made his heart heavy.

 

Holding back the tears, he made his way down to the flying carriage that had the logo of the Falmouth Flacons on it. He climbed in, slamming the door to his new life; to his new self.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

There were quiet murmurings throughout the room as the occupants enjoyed themselves. It was a common occurrence to get together with these same people at least once a week. Food was plentiful and drinks were handed out with house elves and it was held in an extravagant manor. The manor itself had high ceilings, rich wood trimmings and gothic décor. The windows all had stained glass, showing a caption of a certain sorrowful event in history.

 

The manor was dark, yet it held an air of charm and richery. The guests certainly loved everything about the manor; its décor, its guest, the food, and the most important factor- the host.

 

Currently, the host was lounging arrogantly and richly on a satin divan. His ankles were crossed and in one hand he was sporting a tall stemmed glass of champagne while his other aristocratic hand ran through a woman’s hair. The woman was leaning against the divan, enjoying the man’s attention. It didn’t matter that she was bellow him, what mattered was that she was important enough for the man to actually _touch_ her.

 

“Such a magnificent evening, don’t you agree Bellatrix?” Riddle spoke to the woman on her knees before his chair.

 

The crimson divan was raised on a platform, showing everyone the standings of importance. No one was allowed on the platform without the Lord’s permission. “Yes, My Lord, beautiful night.” The woman agreed with him, keeping her eyes on the ground but nonetheless, pleased.

 

Riddle smirked, sipping his champagne and abandoning her hair. It was ratty hair anyway; he was gaining no pleasure by touching her scalp, but perhaps later he could enjoy her hands on him. Tipping his glass, he stood up, shooing Bellatrix off the platform. She scrambled out of his way and he walked to the edge of the platform, eyeing the guests…his followers. “Good evening, my faithful _friends_.”

 

He didn’t speak loud or even raise his voice. He didn’t need to. As soon as he had stood, all attention had been on him and his commanding aura.

 

Murmurs of ‘good evening, My Lord’ filtered across the room. “As you all know, we meet together once a week to trade inside information on the Ministry and the light. But tonight is different, my friends. Tonight, I am standing here before you to tell you all something very important.” Crimson eyes looked around the room, eyeing the number of men and woman. The men outnumbered the crowd, but there were a selected few who were strong woman. His followers came to a good number, around one hundred. Not too large and not to small.

 

“Each and every one of you have a special talent, each of you have something to offer me…to us…to our cause.” There were some modest inclines of heads and Riddle’s lips twitched. Such mindless fools. Alas, there had to be _someone_ to lead. “And I thank you all for your undying loyalty. For years we have plotted, planned and grew. But that time is over. We are going to come out and show the world who we are and what we stand for.”

 

Cheers erupted from the followers and Riddle stood back on his heels, bathing in the sound of success. “We will destroy the Ministry- annihilate and demolish it…only to build it back up _our_ way.” More happy mutterings. “We will destroy the corruption…the racism and the prejudice. We will rise from the ashes, a stronger world in our grasp.”

 

There were mudbloods, half-bloods and purebloods in the audience. All of which who had something that drew Riddle to them. And each individual was courted personally by Tom Riddle. Each wizard in the audience had felt that special attention from Riddle, they had felt honored to have such a powerful wizard court them. It was such a lasting effect that Riddle no longer needed to shower each individual with attention. They would be loyal. No qualms.

 

But his Gem would be different.

 

He couldn’t just court Potter and then leave him alone. No, his Gem would need special attention now and forever. Such power could never be left to its own devices.

 

A few men and woman started to tear off their sleeves in order to bare the Dark Mark, glittering so darkly in the light. The rest of the followers followed, falling to their knees and bowing. Riddle smiled- a twisted smile- but a smile nonetheless. The Ministry would fall and he would knock the light off the pedestal as well.

 

The Ministry was corrupted. They ruled the wizarding world with an iron fist and not one of the citizens knew. Not any of them- save for Riddle’s followers. They knew what the Ministry was capable of. Murder, deceit, lies…

 

And Riddle knew just what to convince Potter to join him with; information about his loveable Ministry. What _really_ happened to his parents, his godfather…and his werewolf.

 

“Tonight, we will be known as Lord Voldemort and his loyal Death Eaters.”

 

Cheers again and Riddle rolled his eyes in the back of his head, pleasure shocking him.

 

Lord Voldemort would rise and the world would fall to their knees.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

**You-Know-Who Strikes Again**

Riddle stared at the headline across the diner. The man holding up the paper grunted when the waitress laid down his morning pastry.

 

Riddle smirked, stirring his own tea. He had never felt this _alive_ before. He and his Death Eaters had gone on another raid last night. There were no deaths to innocents, nothing but bloody torture to their targeted victims. And if one was smart enough…they would realize their targeted victims were in fact members of the Ministry.

 

And even when they tortured the Ministry workers they had targeted- they still did not kill them. No, where was the fun in that? The Death Eaters wiped their memories and abandoned them to the Aurors who had to clean the mess up.

 

Tom Riddle shot out his hand and encircled it around a pretty waitress’ wrist. “Excuse me; miss, would you mind bringing me more cream?” He hated asking so nicely. She blushed and nodded.

 

Charmed navy eyes looked down at his tea, already seeing cream- but not enough. A frown marred his handsome features. His prepared tea only made him think about his Gem. It had been two months since he last laid eyes on Potter in person. Granted, he had seen plenty of pictures of the boy in the newspapers. They all proclaimed his success as the youngest Seeker and how brilliant his talents were. If he remembered correctly, Potter had played in a total of three games already and had won each and every single one. Each game had all been in different countries making it difficult for Tom to watch his Gem.

 

But there was a game in Britain this weekend, the Falmouth Falcon’s first game at home. And he would be there, watching closely.

 

Despite his…absence from Potter, Riddle hadn’t forgotten him at all. He had been preparing for Potter’ arrival; researching more on Magi and getting their training schedule ready…among _other_ things.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” the man spoke quietly and sat down across from him. Riddle didn’t spare Lucius a glance.

 

“Did you see the _Prophet_ today, Lucius?” He considered Lucius one of his closest followers, consequently, naming him his right hand.

 

The Head Malfoy looked smug. “Of course,” he would have addressed him with a ‘My Lord’, but Riddle forbid it in public. He wouldn’t want to ruin his fun with the mystery of who You-Know-Who is. “I think it was a rather well done job, sir.” Riddle smiled and shook his head.

 

“Lucius…” he tisked. “I wasn’t talking about the front page, no; I was looking at the front page of the sport section.” To prove his point, Riddle opened the _Prophet_ to the sport section and folded it in half, placing the article face up on the table. Harry Potter grinned back at them, waving his Snitch in the air. Lucius paled.

 

“Here you go, sir.” The waitress came back and set down a tin pot of cream. She blushed at Riddle’s smile and focused her attention on the paper between them. “Oh, Harry Potter,” she gushed, beaming. Tom resisted a sneer in distaste. Across from him, Lucius was not strong enough to resist sneering at the woman. “He’s a _hunk_ -,” she trailed off after seeing Lucius’ face and backed away.

 

“It’s been _two months_ , Lucius,” Tom reached over to the cream and poured it inside his tea. “I’m getting rather impatient. The Falmouth Falcons are undefeated and the most surprising thing I read…or didn’t read…is that they are not bankrupt as of yet. This surprises me, Lucius, because if my memory serves me correctly I gave you the task to have them out on their arses… _broke._ ” 

 

The blonde pursed his lips, grey eyes studying the picture of a smug Harry Potter. Navy blue eyes watched as Lucius sighed and dug through his cloak. Rather surprisingly, he took out a velvet pouch of money and placed it on the table. It made a heavy ‘clink’ sound as it hit the table. Riddle stared at it.

 

“Twenty thousand Galleons?” The bag was obviously charmed to appear small but to hold plenty of coins inside.

 

Lucius bowed his head, “Twenty thousand, sir, just as you’ve asked.”

 

“Then why are the Falcons still up and running, Lucius?”

 

Riddle remained emotionless as the man leaned forward, his eyes intent. “The Department of Magical Games and Sports was easy to manipulate to take the money from the Falcons. But I stumbled across one mistake, My Lord. It appears that the owner of the Falcons, Cory Chase, isn’t exactly as clean as I expected him to be. He has contacts…old money. Apparently he runs a dirty business in Moscow, selling whores and drugs.”

 

Riddle leaned his back against the booth, smiling. His eyes were on his Gem, eyes dilating in pleasure. “Perhaps…Lucius…” his long fingers caressed the velvet bag, smiling dazedly. “Perhaps we don’t need the Falcons to go bankrupt…”

 

Lucius gave a smirk, eyes sparkling.

 

“Lucius, why don’t you, your son, and I attend a Quidditch game this weekend? I’m sure the _after_ game activities will be just as eventful as the game itself.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 

The locker rooms were luxurious; dark grey and white leather stretched across comfortable couches, gold lockers stood proud up to the ceiling, and a sports bar sat in the front of the room with the Falcons logo painted crisply on the ceiling. It was all nice, but something Harry had gotten used to the past few weeks. Presently, he was aware from all the glamour and glory… in the back of the locker room, in the cold equipment room, sitting in the corner by himself.

 

The door was shut and he was plunged into darkness.

 

Sitting next to him were Quidditch armor and abandoned Quaffles. He sat on a deflated ball and buried his head in his hands. His lithe frame shuddered as a dry cough sounded through the closet. It sounded like a dying hag. _He_ sounded like a dying hag.

 

He grimaced and leaned against the cold wall. From the closet, he could hear the loud music coming from the stands and the stadium above. His teammates were already outside, mingling with their families who had come to the first home game of the season. His teammates were all decent and some where even considered his friends. They were all brilliant, but they weren’t…truly there. All of them seemed to take fame to their personalities.

 

Harry had tried living the life of fame. He had tried drugs, he had tried alcohol, and he was no longer a virgin. Granted, he had only tried those three things a very limited of times- but it was enough to make him ill of them. He hated sex. He detested drugs. And alcohol made him sick to his stomach. He slowly grew away from his teammates when they had after parties or went out to celebrate good fortune.

 

Women only wanted him because of his looks and fame. It was something that made him hate all _this._ This _fame._

 

But this life was necessary for a little longer. Until he couldn’t go on any longer with this fame, he would run off to a foreign country and live among muggles. That sounded incredibly boring to him, but as long as he was away from magic in general, things would go much smoother. He wouldn’t let the _curse_ inside him win. He couldn’t let it destroy him and run his life.

 

Sighing, he stood up and growled. It was time to make an appearance. Granted, they didn’t play for another good few hours, but he needed to make a public appearance. That was what the owner, Cory Chase, had said. Apparently, to Cory, Harry was the favorite among the crowd of fans. He seemed to have taken over his captains, Orion’s spot, with the fans. It didn’t really matter to him. At first, he had been utterly faltered that so many people screamed his name and fainted at the sight of him, but over time, it had gotten far too old to be amusing.

 

He opened the equipment closest door and looked out. As he suspected, no one was in there. He slithered out and shut the door softly behind him. The far room, with the window across from the locker room, was where Cory’s office was. The owner wasn’t inside at the moment and Harry was grateful for that. He trotted over to his locker. It wasn’t exactly a locker then it was a small open room. Harry grabbed his leather Quidditch armor and strapped it on his lithe body.

 

“Potter!” It was Cory, the bloody owner of the fastest growing franchise team in Quidditch.

 

“Yes, sir?” He asked softly, grabbing his fingerless leather gloves and tightening them around his wrists. He didn’t look in the man’s direction.

 

The large belly bounced to a stop near his face as Harry strapped on his shoes. They were the elite shoes, as was his gloves…well…frankly everything he owned was ‘elite’. He got most things for free if he wore them in public.

 

“Why the hell aren’t you out there?” Without looking up, Harry could imagine his manager’s left eye to be twitching in annoyance. “The whole team has already made an appearance. This is a _home_ game, Potter, for Merlin’s sake! If they didn’t come here for the game they came here to get a glimpse of the ‘cute Seeker’! Get the hell out there!” Despite his yelling, Harry knew his manager wasn’t exactly going to have a heart attack from his aggression.

 

He tied the dark grey cloak around him, the hem settling to his lower calves. “Of course, sir, I’m on my way out.”

 

Cory gave a grunt. “Good.” With that, the man turned his heel and left the locker room, probably on his way to find his cigar and private box.

 

Harry sighed, slumping against the leather couch. He had a terrible headache and he didn’t _want_ to socialize…

 

But the silver lining was the Weasleys were here, as well as Hermione. Seeing his friends again seemed to lighten his mood somewhat. Even when he wished his godfather Sirius was alive to see his first home game…

 

**\--CBS--**

 

He sneered slightly as he brushed his robes, cleaning the imaginary filth as someone pushed past him. He hated Quidditch, but he was here for Harry. And to make matters even better, he was sitting in a box with the whole Weasley family. They were sure to be expecting a visit from their famed friend. Unfortunately, not all things could go as smoothly. The Minister and a few of his close Ministry workers were also in the box.

 

Next to him, Lucius sat stiffly and his son, Draco, sat bored. The youngest Malfoy had a sneer on his lips as he glared at the loud mouthed Weasley family. Riddle didn’t really blame the child. The red headed family was talking loudly among themselves, wearing the Flacon’s colors. In fact, Riddle had been cynically amused that most the stadium’s fans, who were wearing Flacons robes, had on Harry Potter’s number and jersey.

 

The boy was rather popular among the crowd, it seemed.

 

Across the stadium, the fans were decked out in mostly crimson robes. The Bulgarian crowd. He was surprised at the outcome of this game. Granted, it was the Falcon’s first home game, but the number of people who attended could easily be mistaken for the World Cup.

 

Suddenly, the stadium erupted in cheers. He turned his head sideways to see what the commotion was about. On the large screen in the stadium showed a moving roster. Currently, the captain, Orion Strider, was grinning at the fans. A number seven was next to his name and then it flashed, turning to the next player on the Falcons team. The cheers died down, the rest of the team obviously not much of a favorite among them.

 

He kept his eyes on the large screen, knowing what would happen when Harry came next.

 

And when the Falcon’s Seeker appeared, the stadium screamed. Riddle mentally grimaced at the sound, especially coming from the Weasley family ahead of him. There were boos coming from the Bulgarian side of the stadium, but that much was understandable. And then the screen changed once more to the Bulgarian team, starting with Viktor Krum- their Seeker.

 

He knew of Krum. The boy had been a star pupil in Drumstrang. He briefly wondered on recruiting Harry’s opponent to his purpose. It wouldn’t hurt in the least.

 

“Pathetic,” Lucius drawled as he watched the scene take place. Riddle sat back with a smirk, enjoying the few looks the Weasley’s threw back at the Malfoys. His eyes caught Ms. Granger, and she gave a small smile in his direction. He inclined his head, respecting the young witch. She had a good head on her shoulders, but far too opinionated to be accepted within his circle. She would disprove of his methods and his followers desires to inflict pain and use Dark Arts. If she sided with the Ministry, or tried to protect them, she would be a decent enemy. 

 

Riddle glanced over at the Minister, feeling hate claw away at his chest. It wouldn’t be that difficult to kill the man with a quick _Avada Kedavra_. Granted, the man had his own body guards surrounding him, but Riddle could make do. The only reason he wouldn’t do such a rash action was because he needed to destroy the Ministry from the inside out. What good would it do that the man would die? Nothing. His lackeys would just take the Minister’s place. Pity the Minister would be the last to get killed.

 

And Riddle had reserved the Minister for himself. They would have such a good time together… he even played with the idea of Harry standing at his side, giving the Minister his own taste of revenge. And Riddle would do anything to experience such magic from his Gem again. It was beyond exhilarating…arousing. Such power was a treasure, a power he needed at his side.

 

His fingers caressed his wand in his pocket, eyeing the Minister beneath hooded eyes. Rufus Scrimgeour. The bloody lion. He was a corrupted fool. No, _he_ wasn’t a fool, but the people of Britain were. How could they be so…brainwashed by this man before him? They were mindless followers of his corrupted words and organizations. Little did they know that he controlled more than he let on. Him and his Aurors and Unspeakables.

 

His Death Eaters were very skilled men; including a few women. But they were outnumbered greatly against the Ministry. And if the light side, the order, got in the way, the Death Eaters would be even more outnumbered. That was why he needed Harry. Having a Magus on his side…it would certainly even up the numbers. But when the opposing side of the war realized who the Magus was, they would do anything in their power to destroy or court Harry over to their side.

 

It would be a long road. But Harry Potter was worth it.

 

Turning away from the Minister, he sighed softly. Harry would indeed be a heavy project. It would take everything in him to train the boy, to make the boy accept his gift. Salazar already warned him it would take a lot of work.

 

But challenges were something he thrived on.

 

_“Harry!”_

 

A loud pitch screech heard through the glass box and Ginny Weasley jumped from her seat. The occupants all turned their bodies to get a better look at the newcomers. A large man, who looked suspiciously like a half-giant, strolled into the room. His attire consisted of all black. Behind him, trotted Harry and after the boy came another large body.

 

How cute. The boy had bodyguards. Harry Potter did not _need_ bodyguards. With just a thought, whoever stood in his way could be dead. Of course, the idiot boy wouldn’t even think of using that gift.

 

Tom Riddle leaned back, staring at Harry. The boy looked awful. His frame was always lithe, but he looked positively small now. That messy hair was rather lank, falling limply in his dull green eyes. Tom always admired those eyes of the boy. A shocking green, a Slytherin shade, the _Avada Kedavra_ …but they were rather dark now and held no life. Dark circles stretched underneath his eyes and stood out against his pale face.

 

A smirk lifted Riddle’s lips. This couldn’t have been any better. The boy hated his life. It was as simple as that.

 

And Tom would put that spark back in the boy’s eyes. He would make those green eyes glow once more.

 

He stood up with the rest of the occupants. The Minister stood up as well and Riddle glowered. The man was watching Harry with his eyes, almost sizing him up. Of course he would be, after all, he had killed the boy’s parents and godfather. He would be looking for any sign of treachery from their son. But in all outward appearances, Harry was just a professional Quidditch player. He would not be dabbling in his Ministry like his parents had…

 

He watched the proceedings of the greeting between Potter and the Weasley family. That was one obstacle he had to tackle as well. The Weasleys and Granger. Hell, even the whole Potter fan club. From his position, he could see the fans outside the box, looking inside with awed expressions on their faces and many clicks sounded as they took pictures of the Falcon Seeker.

 

“You want him, My Lord?” Lucius question barely even a whisper. The aristocrat was at his back and Tom didn’t turn around.

 

He kept his eyes on the boy. His lust was growing with each passing moment at the prospect of harnessing such power. “More than anything, Lucius.”

 

“Is he that powerful?” The blonde questioned in disbelief. Riddle refused to tell _anyone_ of Harry’s status of a Magus, beside Salazar. “Draco tells me he is poor at his studies and doesn’t pick up a book-,”

 

“I was his professor, Lucius.” Here, Tom turned his eyes off Harry, looking straight into the man’s eyes, seeing past the ice barrier. “I am well aware of his study habits. Jealousy is very unbecoming from you, my old friend.” The man was jealous of the attention he was giving Potter. Tom repressed a smirk in satisfaction as he turned away. All his followers were such a way. They all kissed the ground he walked on and became envious of others when they received his attention. Those who grew jealous only tried harder to impress him.

 

It was all amusing.

 

But they should get used to his attention on Potter, for it would never diminish. A Magus deserved _everything,_ and that included attention. Add that to the fact that Harry would need extra attention. The boy was suicidal. Riddle would never allow the boy to _ever_ attempt such a stunt again. Such power shouldn’t be wasted in such a pathetic way.

 

Molly Weasley picked up the boy in a sweeping hug, declaring how thin he looked. Harry brushed it off and answered the questions being bombarded in his direction about the life of a famed Quidditch player.

 

He sat back down, knowing Harry would see him sooner or later. From the corner of his eye, he watched Lucius slowly sit after him. “I apologize, sir,” the blonde man watched Potter. “I just don’t sense any magic from him.”

 

“Oh, how wrong you are, Lucius.” He caught Draco looking amused and rather skeptical and Riddle scowled at the boy. “Do you have something to say, boy?” He directed his question at the blonde brat. Draco’s eyes widened and he flushed, shaking his head heatedly.

 

“No, no My Lord-,”

 

Riddle shot forward in his seat, narrowing his eyes precariously. “Hush, you stupid boy, not so loud.” The boy in front of him looked as if he were going to faint. Riddle looked away in disgust. Lucius rapped his cane against Draco’s head as a warning.

 

He grew agitated as Harry stayed with his ‘friends’. He also itched to curse the foolish spectators outside the box. Some daring fans even attempted to enter the box, but Potter’s bodyguards blocked the entrance.

 

Finally, for what seemed like ages, green eyes locked with his own. He lounged arrogantly in his seat, meeting those eyes straight on. Harry’s blissful expression seemed to falter as he realized that his professor was there; the only one who knew his secret. Harry turned away first, wishing his surrogate family a goodbye. Riddle heard him vow to give the Weasley’s professional Quidditch gear when they came down after the game.

 

And then…then Harry came to approach him.

 

Smart and brave boy.

 

Riddle gave a smile, surely a frightening smile, but nonetheless, a smile. Potter didn’t falter, he just continued closer.  “Malfoy, I see you added extra gel to your stiff hair for this special occasion.” He spat sarcastically at the younger blonde. “I’m honored that you cared so much of my opinion.” Behind him, the Weasleys howled with laughter.

 

“Potter,” Draco replied just as hatefully. “I see you’ve finally found your place in society. Among sweaty men and in the clouds…”

 

Potter sneered, eyes narrowing. “At least I’m earning a living for myself, Malfoy. I don’t have daddy to lean on like you do.” Riddle watched as the youngest Malfoy flushed. Such childish bickering would need to be corrected among other things with Harry. He couldn’t have his Gem have a loose tongue like that.

 

“You-,”

 

“Now now, Draco,” Lucius purred, setting his gloved hand on his son’s shoulders. The blonde brat cleared his face, trying to impress his father. “Mr. Potter, I’ve heard _so_ much about you.” Harry glanced at Riddle. The man lifted an eyebrow in turn, smirking softly at his Gem. _No sweet, I didn’t tell him my secret weapon._

 

Potter gave a thin smile toward Lucius and slowly reached over to shake his outstretched hand, almost if he were afraid of catching a disease. “Mr. Malfoy, I could say the same about you.” Potter’s voice was rather dry as he quickly dropped the man’s hand. The boy dismissed Lucius rather coldly, turning his attention on Riddle. “Professor, it’s… a surprise to see you here. As far as I can remember, you hardly came to any Quidditch games at Hogwarts.”

 

He stood up, towering over the Magus. “Lucius was grateful enough to invite me. I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you again, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry shifted somewhat, his exhaustion easily spotted from up close. Riddle cocked his head slightly, his interest piqued. The boy didn’t look just tired, he looked _ill._ Could it… could he perhaps be going through magical withdrawal. When was the last time the boy had cast magic?

 

“Getting ready for next years curriculum, Professor?” Harry wondered, turning the conversation to his liking. “Are you still going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?” 

 

Just what he wanted the boy to ask… “Actually, I have resigned for next year. I’m taking on a… _new_ project.”

 

Harry gave a quick nod, looking uncomfortable. Riddle shot out his hand in a gesture for a shake. The boy would be a fool if he didn’t take it. Green eyes looked down at his hand and then slowly shook it. As soon as the small hand landed in his, he cupped Harry’s hand with his other and held tight. “I would like to speak with you after the game, in private.” Riddle lowered his voice so only Lucius could hear. “You know exactly what I wish to speak about. Dinner? On me?”

 

The boy remained silent and stiff. Riddle tightened his hold. “You would do well to agree.” It could be considered a threat. Then again, it didn’t need to be seen as one.

 

“Fine,” Harry said breathlessly. “Dinner on _you_.” The boy flashed Riddle a smile full of teeth and pulled away.

 

Riddle watched him approach the Minister and his older son. “He’s rather… smart mouthed, My Lord.” Lucius remarked.

 

“His manners _are_ atrocious, Lucius. He’s a complete slob.” Riddle grinned tightly as Harry left the box with his two body guards. “It’s a good thing he’ll be learning manners from the best.” He gave a pointed look toward the blonde and Lucius paled significantly.

 

“Me?”

 

Draco snickered.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry took a deep breath. He was standing in the dark with the rest of his team members, gripping his broom. Right ahead of him, he stared at Orion’s head. The man’s long black hair was pulled into the small pony at the nape of his neck.

 

He should be used to this. This… pre-game jitter… it was unhealthy.

 

Taking another deep breath, he glanced at his side to see one of the beaters. The Falcon’s Beaters were an amusing pair. One of them was far too big for a broom while his partner was a legal midget. They were bloody wicked with their clubs and chose blood over sweat.

 

“Ready team?” Orion Strider turned to look at his team, assessing each one of them. “Bulgaria is a difficult team to go up against. But I hope you are all ready for it.” He warned, reminding Harry of Wood. “Harry, watch Krum. That bastard is all bone.”

 

Harry grinned at his captain, nodding. With that, Strider turned back around, waiting for the gate to open. They heard the Bulgarian’s being introduced. Equal cheers and jeers spread across the audience as the announcer went through each Quidditch member. Their introduction music was masculine and fierce, sounding heavy in Harry’s ears.

 

Considering this was their first game at home, they had a little special introduction round planned. Harry looked down at the palm sized ball in his palm. He was reminded of the harsh grasp that had held him hostage for a few moments. Riddle… that man; if possible, seemed to have a darker edge to him than the last time he’d seen him. And Harry agreed to meet alone with the man. Was that the wisest choice?

 

But when the professor was threatening him with his… _illness_ Harry had no choice but to agree to meet. But Harry would grow some balls during this _last_ meeting and tell Riddle to back off. He would tell the man to go ahead and tell everyone his secret. And if Riddle went along and told the public, Harry would run off, forever hiding. Among muggles. Perhaps the Americas or Germany.

 

Seeing the Weasleys again seemed to lighten his mood. His previous boredom at his lifestyle seemed to dissipate slightly when he was with them. But it was back now, of course, and it nagged at him if he was doing the right thing in avoiding the wizarding world. But what else would he do? Someone would find out his disease and there would never be a moment’s rest. People would try to kill him because of his freakish ‘gift’ and others would sweet talk him. He would never really know if they were true.

 

But the Weasleys were true.

 

Hermione was.

 

But how would Harry know how they would react when he told them? What if they turned their backs on him in fear? They would certainly treat him differently… he knew that much. And-,

 

He snapped out of his thoughts as their gate started to open. His pulse raced and he clutched the magical ball in his hand. In his other hand, he clutched his broom. He would be facing against Viktor Krum, one of Ron’s favorite players. Harry knew of Krum, the Drumstrang student had just graduating a few years back. He used to be the youngest Seeker, but Harry had claimed that position when he joined the Falmouth Falcons.

 

Straddling his broom, he took off, flying with the rest of his teammates out the gate. The stadium was dark, save for the flashes of the cameras. The names on the back of their jerseys were lit, giving the fans a thrill at trying to spot the players from above. Harry grinned, feeling the rush of the air going past him. It was rather comforting. Flying made him feel _normal._ And free. Up here, he wasn’t judged on his magical power, but his flying skills.

 

Orion threw his ball, creating a loud explosion throughout the stadium. It was a firework, lighting the stadium in the shape of a Falcon. The crowd went crazy, their cheers almost drowning out the loud music. Harry grew slightly ill at the darkness. The only thing keeping him from colliding with one of his teammates were their glowing numbers and names on their backs.

 

The Falcons danced across the dark stadium, each Quidditch member throwing their own Falcon firework into the crowd. Harry took his ball and tossed it toward the box he knew the Weasleys were at. The Falcon sprouted proudly from the thrown ball, igniting the stadium. Harry grinned when he saw Ron and the twins pressed up against the glass, staring in wonder. The Falcon firework flapped its wings once and dissolved in glowing rubies. The crowd attempted to catch the gems, but they disappeared as soon as they came in contact with skin.

 

Harry flew past the Weasley’s box and sunk low toward the crowd. They screamed, causing his eyes to twitch at the piercing sound. Harry, thinking he’d better get out of their reach, started to gain height. By that time, the lights slowly turned back on. He circled the stadium with his team, watching as his teammates did acrobatic moves on their brooms. The crowd seemed to be watching in excitement.

 

Harry grinned, having his own special move. He’d been working on it with Orion after practice and was confident enough that they could do it. He caught Orion’s eyes and gave a nod, a grin crossing his features. His captain grinned back, slowing down slightly to allow Harry to catch up.

 

Harry on the other hand was going at a top speed toward the star Chaser. Blocking out the crowd, he slowly stood on his broom. The crowd seemed to cheer at his act, but Harry ignored them, his move not at all finished. With his balance, he approached Orion quicker, his pulse at a high time rate. _This_ was thrill.

 

Giving a large step forward, bringing his momentum forward, he jumped off his broom and over the top of Orion. His broom continued forward, underneath the captain and riderless. For a moment, Harry was flying free through the air, his body moving over Orion.

 

Looking ahead, he didn’t think he’d land on his broom that came from under Orion. He thought he be there too soon before his broom, but his assumptions were incorrect. With a rather harsh land, he straddled his broom once again.

 

The crowd went crazy and Harry did a dive to hide his smile. He had done it… successfully. He was sure Ron and the twins would force Harry to show them the maneuver but Molly would be utterly furious.

 

He crossed toward their box, meeting Ron’s eyes. His red headed friend was screaming in the box, his face crimson with excitement. Harry chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in months. The twins were jumping up and down, their bodies rigid with exhilaration. Laughing, Harry spiraled closer to the glass box, in danger of crashing straight into it. Instead, he twisted upward at the last moment.

 

The rest of the warm up, Harry stayed at the highest point, practicing his flying technique. This high up, the spectators would have trouble really seeing him and he didn’t mind it that way. He calmly flew from end to end, slowing his pulse into a consoling rhythm. He shut his eyes, focusing on the upcoming match. Although he hated the fame and what came with it, he didn’t mind playing the game. It was what gave him _life._

 

Below him, the whistle blew, alerting all the players toward the center of the field. Pointing his broom downward, he dived straight down. It was time for the game…

 

And after the game he was meeting with the only man who knew his curse.

 

Harry tried to tell himself that _it_ wasn’t in the back of his mind.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 

Dodging a Bludger, Harry twisted away from the ground and spiraled upward. The game had been going on for an hour now. His hair was matted and messed up with sweat and his limbs were sore. The score was currently 130 to 190, Bulgaria. Harry had only caught sight of the Snitch _once_ during the hour. And as he attempted to grab it, his arm was almost taken off by a Bludger.

 

Swirling in a spiral, Harry gave a loud exhale of breath. The fans were still vocal, their energy clearly not spent after an hour. Harry thought it amusing to see their blurry faces from his position in the sky, their mouths open and hands waving in encouragement.

  
Throwing a look toward the opposite Seeker, Viktor Krum, Harry watched the Bulgarian scope the field with a furrowed brow.

 

Looking up at the endless sky, Harry felt his fatigue grow. He’d been feeling horrible and his adrenaline hadn’t gotten rid of his sickness like he thought it would. Leaning forward on his broom, he looked down on his team. They were doing decent enough, not as much fouls as Harry had thought would be going on…

 

He perked up slightly as he watched Viktor Krum dive. The crowd went wild, standing up in a sea of red. “And Krum has spotted the Snitch!” Green eyes narrowed in concentration. There was no Snitch. Harry grinned lightly, keeping his position on his broom. The Falcon fans were booing, thinking he had thrown the game. Harry just grinned wider, perking up and thinking of his own strategy.

 

Krum wanted to feint him, no doubt, but it wouldn’t work. Harry prided himself with a sharp eye, perhaps a sharper eye than any other human had.

 

As Krum was diving, hoping to draw Harry to the ground, Harry pointed his own broom in the opposite direction and flew. “And Potter has spotted the Snitch?” The announcer shouted uncertainly. “Apparently Krum’s plan to drive Potter in the ground had turned on him.”

 

Harry smirked, looking over his shoulder to see Krum change his course and follow him. Turning back around, Harry picked up his speed, _loving_ the wind. He spiraled away from one of the Bulgarian Chasers, inching closer to the crowd. Their screams were greeted with his deaf ears as he raced around the stadium. Krum was on his tail, inching closer. From the corner of his eye, he saw a Bludger slam its way directly toward his form. If he didn’t move, it was surely come in contact with his head. It was a killing strike and for a moment, Harry wondered if he should just stay put.

 

It would be a decent way to die. No one would think it suicide, no one would ever find out about his _disease_.

 

But a second before it came in contact, Harry jerked his broom upward, plastering himself against his broom to gain more speed. He shot forward, the Bludger making contact with the stands just inches from where he flew moments ago.

 

That could have been his chance. Grinding his teeth, Harry gave a dry sob at his lost chance. He could have died doing something he felt normal doing… he could have died doing the one and only thing he enjoyed doing. Closing his eyes briefly, he shot toward the sky, far above the game. Krum was still at his rear.

 

What had stopped him? What had made him jerk his broom upward, deflecting the Bludger?

 

His parents would have been disappointed and so would have Sirius. Swallowing, Harry stopped in the air, looking down at the stadium. The players were tiny pinpricks and the crowd was barely recognized as actual people. Krum fell away from him, realizing Harry wasn’t chasing anything remotely similar as the Snitch. Harry took the time to control his racing pulse, taking deep breaths.

 

Now was not the time to think about this…

 

Pushing his thoughts aside, Harry slowly descended the sky, forcing himself back into the game. As he leveled himself with the pitch, he caught sight of the Golden Snitch. It was in the middle of the pitch, about ten feet from the ground. The problem was… Krum spotted it as well. They were on opposite sides of the pitch, about the same distance away from the Snitch. Keeping eye contact on each other for a brief second, they both raced forward.

 

Everything was blocked out as Harry zoomed past players toward the Snitch.

 

His fingers were twitching as he approached closer and his eyes occasionally glanced up to see Krum approaching with just as much force as himself. They were going to collide if the Snitch stayed still.

 

Were they both willing to risk their lives in order to win the game?

 

Hell yes.

 

A silly grin plastered Harry’s lips as his sweaty hair flapped in his face. Ten feet from each other. Seven… five…

 

Leaning forward as much as he could, Harry reached for the Snitch the same moment Krum did. Cold metal greeted his finger just barely before his body collided in full speed with Krum’s.

 

The world spun before him and his body went flying off his broom. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time. His stomach flipped with his body and his limbs went in every which direction. He had hit Krum with such force that his body spun with just as much vigor. He had to shut his eyes as he fell, the world spinning too quickly for him to handle. Was this it? Was _this_ his last moments?

 

If it was, it was bloody wonderful.

 

His body pushed gravity as it continued to fall. He knew when his body met the ground it would be a heavy impact.

 

His arse landed first, but it barely touched before his whole body somersaulted quickly and he rolled on the ground. His nose cracked as he finally came to a halt on his stomach. His whole body burned and he could feel a splitting pain in his leg and ribs. Merlin, this hurt…

 

As he laid completely still, he was aware of the Snitch in his broken hand. He had landed on his hand, allowing no room for the Snitch to escape. The crowd had grown in noise but Harry couldn’t exactly focus an anything but the pain. “Mr. Potter?” Footsteps were quick to approach, yet Harry couldn’t move his broken nose from the ground.

 

Cold fingertips pressed to his neck, feeling for a pulse. _I’m alive, really… just hurt._ “He’s alive, hurry, the stretcher.” Something was strapped onto his neck, bracing his head and spine. With ease, they lifted him up on the stretcher, successfully removing his nose from the ground.

 

Blearily, he blinked up at the sky, his teammates hovering over him on their brooms. “Potter…” Orion moaned pathetically.

 

“Cheer up mates,” Harry struggled to speak, his broken wrist thrusting in the air. The wings of the Snitched flapped in the air. “I won the game.” They all looked flabbergasted down at him, silly grins spreading across their lips.

 

“And Potter… Potter miraculously caught the Snitch! Falmouth Falcons win!”

 

And Harry blacked out.

 

 

**\--CBS--**

 

He was less than amused.

 

Riddle leaned against the waiting room, staring at the opposite wall with a grim expression on his face. The Weasley family, along with Riddle, was escorted down to the Falmouth Falcons waiting room. In the room next door, the Quidditch team’s locker room sat. Beyond that, the Healing room was placed conveniently close.

 

That foolish, _idiot_ boy had risked his own life for the sake of a Golden Snitch.

 

It was pathetic and Riddle could hardly control his magic and expression. How could anyone be so stupid? It was a silly sport, _only_ a silly sport. 

 

“How could he be so _stupid!”_ Molly Weasley voiced his own thoughts. Riddle had his arms crossed and he stood nonchalantly against the wall. He was far too angry to meet any of the red headed family, afraid he’d use Legilimency subconsciously. Really, he had more control then this, but the boy… that idiot was…

 

“It was a bloody sweet move, mum.” George defended. Riddle knew how to tell the difference between the two twins. After all, he’d taught the both of them, putting up with their obnoxious jabs and pranks.

 

“Harry should be awfully proud of himself.” Fred continued, drudging on Riddle’s nerves.

 

“The Weasley clan and Hermione Granger…” A solid looking wizard stepped out of the Falcon’s private rooms, looking at the parchment in his hands. “Mr. Potter will see you now. And he has requested for Mr. Riddle to stay put until deemed otherwise.”

 

Riddle refused to smirk at that. The boy didn’t want to see him, yet he had shown Riddle that he hadn’t forgotten their agreement by bringing him down here with the Weasleys. Instead of showing any impatience, he calmly sat down, crossing his legs as the Weasley clan entered the Falcon’s Suite. He would wait calmly and collectively. After all, things would turn out in his favor by the end of the evening.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

As much as Harry wanted them to stay longer, he was far too tired to deal with their excitement, disappointment, and anger. He had done his part and gave them a few gifts from the Falcon merchandise and all his hugs to Molly.

 

He had woken up a few moments ago, fully healed. His nose was healed, his ribs were healed, and his wrist was healed. His leg was still mending and he had to walk with a slight limp, yet he was far better off from what he had been like a few hours ago. A bruise stayed stubbornly around his face, specifically near his nose from his previously broken nose. And his sickness was still with him. He had thought that maybe with his healings, his illness would have been taken care as well.

 

At least Krum was in the same boat as him. Harry heard the Seeker suffered just as much injuries as him.

 

He kissed Ginny on the cheek as he led the clan out of the Falcon Suite. Ron, Fred, and George were all drooling at the Falcon players and the free merchandise in their hands. They looked as if it Christmas came early. It was the least Harry could do for shooing them out so quickly.

 

But he had one more to deal with…

 

“Thanks for coming again,” Harry simpered as he allowed Molly to kiss him once again on the forehead. Ginny and he shared an eye roll at her concerned behavior. “I will definitely see about getting a few days off and seeing you all before your school year starts up again.”

 

“You’ll do your tutoring, right Harry?” Hermione questioned sternly. “Remember, you promised Dumbledore to keep your grades-,”

 

“As high as Acceptables in order to keep playing professional Quidditch. Yes, Hermione, I am starting my tutoring shortly. Don’t worry.” He hugged her gently, his body still sore from the breaking and mending.

 

“Why are you seeing Professor Riddle, Harry?” Ginny asked as they approached the exit. “From what I remember, you two never got along at school.”

 

“We don’t,” Harry grumbled, his mood sinking low. “Dumbledore just sent him to sort out the tutoring curriculum I need to accomplish this term.” He lied efficiently and he wondered where that effectiveness had come from. He never used to be a good liar… why was he starting?

 

“I thought he wasn’t teaching next year?” Hermione interrupted, looking curious.

 

Scratching the back of his neck, Harry shrugged. “You got me. I guess he’s helping Dumbledore with a few other things…”

 

“It’s very nice of him that he’s taken the time to come to your game, Harry. And to help you with your studies.” Molly smiled, looking almost dreamily at the mention of Riddle. Harry almost gagged at that. Riddle, of course, was known for his damned charming façade. Everyone tripped over their feet to get attention from him. Harry thought it sickening.

 

“Yeah, really nice,” Ron rolled his eyes, patting Harry lightly on the back. “Good game, mate. Can’t wait for the next home game.” His mother flashed a disproving look toward her son.

 

“And you _need_ to teach us that move you did during warm-ups,” one of the twins chirped up. Molly slapped both twins upside the head, warning them that she’d ban them forever off their brooms if she caught them attempting to do such a stunt.

 

As Harry led them out the Suite, he was more than aware of the body sitting so casually in the waiting room. Even if Harry kept the man waiting for more than an hour, Riddle seemed as if he had only been waiting a few moments. It aggravated him…

 

Straining to keep smiling, he wished the lot a good bye. Once they were out of the Suite, Harry whirled around slowly to sneer at Riddle. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

Dark eyebrows rose to the neatly arranged hairline. “Taking you out to dinner like we agreed earlier. Don’t you remember? Or did you hit your head a little too hard?” It was said with a charming sort of smile, a smile any female would swoon after. Harry wasn’t affected in the least.

 

“What do you want to say to me, Riddle? This… this blackmailing you’re doing isn’t going to continue.”

 

Riddle stood up with a fluid grace. “Where are we going to enjoy our meal?” He completely ignored Harry’s outburst. “I’m in the mood for Eastern cuisine. Do you mind? I’m paying after all.” Harry considered this, withholding a grin. Instead, he blinked innocently.

 

“Well, if you are paying… I know _just_ the place to go.”

 

**\--CBS--**

He had seen the hidden smirk on the boy’s face as he suggested where to go. Riddle had been sure the boy would bring him to an expensive restaurant. After all… that was how the boy was, cheeky. But he should have known Potter wouldn’t have a clue what restaurants were for the rich and wealthy… he should have known _this_ was where Potter would bring them.

 

After the Falcon limousine had dropped them off at a small restaurant, Riddle had been suspicious. He had never been there before and as he stepped through the door, he knew why.

 

Currently sitting at the uncomfortable chair, he stared at Potter’s smirking face. “Amusing, Mr. Potter.”

 

“Well,” the boy scoffed, gnawing on a chip. “I figured since you were paying you wouldn’t want somewhere spendy, would you?” The restaurant was mimicked after muggles. It was rather loud and dim and the chiefs cooked like muggles. It caused slow service and a loud atmosphere. It wasn’t the sort of place Riddle would _ever_ step foot in. No matter, if Potter was playing with him, Tom wouldn’t rise to the bait.

 

He was the older one and the more mature one. Obviously.

 

Instead of being uptight, he leaned back in his chair assessing the boy. His Gem was finally in his possession, albeit not exactly in the best shape. The sixteen year old looked broken and battered… and tired, almost as if he’d given up on everything. It was the defeated expression that set Riddle off. When Potter had left during sixth year for Quidditch, the boy had looked ecstatic- almost like he had a new purpose in life. And those green eyes were bright and lively.

 

Now the boy just looked drained and ready for death.

 

He was suicidal, Riddle knew as much after the near suicide attempt in the bathroom at Hogwarts. If he hadn’t arrived when he had, the Magus would have died.

 

“You don’t look too well,” Riddle commented dryly, ignoring the horrendous way Potter was slouching at the table. The boy needed weeks upon weeks of lessons on manners. “Are you going through magical withdrawal?” Potter paused in his eating, his fingers turning white around the fork. “How long was it since you cast magic, child?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Potter all but snapped. Like a child.

 

“Well that’s what you are, is it not? You are sixteen, not yet an adult and you don’t take care of yourself. Look at you, you must have lost at least twenty pounds since we last met and you were small to begin with.”

 

“Now you’re my bloody father?” Green eyes brightened somewhat.

 

“Perhaps you _need_ a father figure, Mr. Potter. A wizard cannot stop casting magic so suddenly like you did. Especially a Magus like yourself.” The child threw down his fork with exasperation. No one heard them; after all, the music inside the… _restaurant_ was annoying loud.

 

“I knew this is why you wanted to meet with me.” Potter leaned forward, looking determined. “Listen, Riddle, I will say this one last time. I won’t join the little cult you have; I have no interest to be a part of your organization. I know you are fake and I know that you charm anyone who walks past you with your little _smirk_.” Riddle smiled lightly, amused. “You want to blackmail me with the knowledge you hold over my head. Yes, I’m a Magus, or whatever you deem to call it, but I don’t care any longer. Tell the whole wizarding world if you wish, I will not be allowed to be blackmailed into seeing your haughty face any longer.”

 

“Are you finished?” Tom purred softly, not touching the disgracing food in front of him. Instead, he sipped at his sweet tea, eyeing the red faced Gryffindor across from him. “The only reason I am blackmailing you is because I have no other way to convince you to meet with me.”

 

Just as Potter opened his mouth to argue again, Riddle held up his hand, leaning forward. “I want to discuss your parents’ and godfather’s death, Mr. Potter.” A pale sheen replaced the flushed cheeks on Harry’s face. “I wanted to discuss this in a more private setting, but this will have to do.”

 

Potter looked down at his food and then averted his eyes toward the other occupants in the restaurant. “James and Lily were killed after they came home from the Ministry, Riddle. You know this. They were killed by a dark wizard, Peter Pettigrew. And Sirius died in surgery after being critically injured in an Auror mission.”

 

Riddle took a quiet breath, wondering how Harry would react. Would this be easy? Would his Gem automatically join him after hearing the story? Or would things slip out of his control and he would have an even more difficult road to travel? “What you heard about their deaths were false, Mr. Potter.”

 

The boy was shaking his head, his shoulders tense at the conversation topic. “You’re wrong. You’re just doing this to brainwash me like the rest of you cult members. I won’t listen to-,”

 

“Just hear me out, boy.” Riddle hissed softly, his fingers clutching in aggravation. The boy was far too Gryffindor at times. “First I must explain to you my ‘cult’, as you so pleasantly labeled it.” Potter calmed down slightly, yet his eyes were narrowed on Riddle. “Over the years, I have studied magic, becoming deeply inflicted in the Dark Arts.” Dim green eyes widened. “Your reaction is a typical reaction amongst the wizarding world. You believe the Dark Arts is wrong-,”

 

“It _is._ ”

 

Ignoring the outburst, Tom continued. “You believe the Dark Arts is corrupted and unethical. But little do you know that Light wizards preach the wrongdoings to the public when they do far more terrible things behind closed doors.” He waited for the boy to interrupt, but surprisingly, he didn’t. “It was a few years back, perhaps thirty years to be exact… I was employed at the Ministry before I became a professor at Hogwarts, attempting to work my way up the political ladder.

 

“Successfully, I became the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was then when I learned first hand how corrupt the Ministry system was. Earlier, I heard rumors, but I dismissed them, unable to believe that _Light_ wizards could be capable of such things.”

 

“What things?” Harry questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Did you ever wonder why Dark Arts is practiced so little? Why it’s rare to find someone who casts it? It’s simply because the Ministry takes whomever they can who are labeled ‘Dark’.” Tom breathed deeply, his jaw tensing. “When I was working late, I went down to the Unspeakable level to drop off law enforcement documents. On my way, I saw the doors leading into nowhere. But they didn’t _lead_ to _no_ where. They led to hell. Held captivities, humans, creatures, animals… Dark wizards who simply were curious on the Dark Arts… they were all caged.

 

“They were experimenting on them. I saw humans who looked like living corpses. I saw vampires who were black skinned because of their lack of blood intake. The werewolves were full of scars… and there were things I couldn’t even begin to understand. The Unspeakables were experimenting on them, sometimes even injecting them with notorious diseases to experiment vaccines for.”

 

Potter looked ill, and yet, he looked angry. Riddle had a hunch that the boy didn’t know what to think.

 

“I pretended as if I hadn’t seen anything. I dropped the paperwork off and quit the Ministry the following day. After which, I herded all the Dark wizards I could name off. I gathered my _cult_ and told them of my experience. I joined Dumbledore’s staff as Head of Slytherin and slowly begin courting students who had special abilities, abilities that would prove worthy in war. For over twenty years, I have created an army to face off against the Ministry. And yet? I still don’t have enough. The Ministry is a large and powerful leader in the wizarding world. Not just Britain. But I am running out of time. They are extending their reach across the world. Becoming _more_ powerful at a rate I cannot keep up with.”

 

He wouldn’t mention the fact that he and his followers enjoyed inflicting pain. Right now, he had to make it seem as if they were innocent, just victims of the prejudice in the Ministry world.

 

“If you believe you would struggle against them, why can’t you wait just a bit longer-,”

 

“I believe you can be my last ally. You are someone with unheard of power-,”

 

“A _disease_ I will never willingly use again, Riddle.” Potter scoffed. “And you expect me to believe such a thing as the Ministry experimenting on the dark creatures? How do I know if you aren’t just coming up with a story in order to take over the Ministry?”

 

“Because your parents saw what I saw.” Tom shot back. “James and Lily Potter heard rumors of the captivity of their missing werewolf friend, Remus Lupin. Lupin had been missing since the full moon. After work, Lily and James ventured down to the Unspeakable level and witnessed the captivity. Unfortunately, they grew bold, threatening the Ministry with exposure. Of course, the Ministry didn’t approve of such a threat and they killed them, setting it up to make it appear as if Peter Pettigrew had done it.”

 

Potter was sweating at his hairline and his knuckles were white. “And Sirius?” He grounded out. “What about him?”

 

Riddle could see that Potter wasn’t handling the situation well. “Your godfather ventured in one of their labs in Germany on his Auror mission. He witnessed the lab and attacked the Unspeakables and was critically wounded. Instead of casting an _oblivious_ charm on him, like they could have, they pulled his life support machines at the hospital.”

 

“How do you know all this?” Potter demanded. “How do _you_ know of their deaths?”

 

“Because I have a spy in the Ministry. Just _one_ spy. An Unspeakable spy, Harry. He tells me everything… he tells me that every restaurant, every sporting event, every neighborhood, every press agency… there is always a spy for the Ministry, just _waiting_ to attack and kill if word spreads out on their dirty business.”

 

“Why can’t you tell Dumbledore this?” Harry shifted in his seat, looking as if he were about to explode up.

 

“Dumbledore?” Riddle sneered the name, a strong dislike cursing through him. “He knows.”

 

_“No.”_

 

And that was Harry’s cue to leave. The boy shot up from his chair, hurrying out of the restaurant. Quickly throwing a few Gallons on the table, Tom followed quickly at the Magus’ heels. As they exited the restaurant, Tom curled his hand around the boy’s waist, tugging him flush against his chest. His lips caressed the hot ear of Potter, inhaling the magical scent of the boy. It was a lover’s caress and he was extremely aroused.

 

“You need to trust me, Harry.” He whispered heatedly in his ear. “The Ministry is keeping a special eye on you because of your connection with your parents and Sirius Black. They are just _waiting_ for a wrong move from you. Why do you think Dumbledore allowed you to go into professional Quidditch? Despite his hand in the Ministry, the old fool still cares for you. He wanted you to go into Quidditch, to forget about your deceased family, about the magic, about the Ministry.”

 

“No, I cannot,” Potter pulled from his hold, his cloak whirling about him. “Perhaps… perhaps this is what was meant to be. I can’t help you. I can’t believe you, Riddle.” 

 

Tom stood still, watching as the dark embraced the small frame.

 

No. The boy didn’t _want_ to believe him.

 

But in time, he would.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Clad in a hooded cloak, Tom caressed the silk money bag in his pocket. He entered the Falcons Suite, fully intent to stay _clear_ of Potter and seek out Cory Chase, the owner of the Falmouth Falcons.

 

It was time to carry out step two of courting his Gem.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

 

“I’m here to see Cory Chase.” Riddle whispered softly, standing in front of the security guard. Behind the security guard stood the door to the owner’s rooms. Cory Chase; the alleged mafia descendant who had a lot of dirty money. According to Lucius, Chase was currently running a dirty business in Moscow, selling illegal drugs and prostitutes.

 

Lucius stumbled across the information as he attempted to bankrupt the Falmouth Falcons. Lucius succeeded in taking twenty thousand Gallons, but it hadn’t been enough compared to the dirty money Chase was making. The owner had just paid off the mounting debt he found himself in.

 

There _was_ the option in which Riddle could reveal Chase’s business in Moscow to the Ministry, but he had his reasons why he would refrain from doing so. For one thing, he would never help out the Ministry. With anything but population control. Secondly, that would just be… less dramatic then what he was looking for at the moment. He was itching for some _fun,_ especially with the way his conversation with Potter went.

 

“I don’t think so,” the security guard grunted with amusement. “Mr. Chase is occupied. He has asked to be left alone, undisturbed.”

 

Underneath his hood, Riddle sneered. “I’m afraid you misunderstood me,” he whispered. His magic grew, causing static to dance around the small corridor. “I’m here to see Cory Chase. Now.”

 

The security wizard seemed to hesitate slightly, his expression twisting into uncertainty. “No, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

 

Resisting a sigh, Riddle twirled his wand in his fingers. _“Avada Kedavra.”_ The green light embraced the heavy form in front of him, bringing the man to the ground, lifeless. “Must you be so _difficult_?” Tom tisked, stepping over the body and entering the room.

 

Assessing the luxury quarters of the owner, his eyes zeroed in on the owner himself. In a rather… preoccupied position.

 

A bitch sat on his naked lap, grunting and moaning with each thrust. She was the stereotypical female who salivated around rich and famous figureheads. Her acid red talons buried into the thick skin of Cory Chase. The owner had one hand on her small hip and the other held a smoking cigar.

 

“Ah, look at this.” He paused, grimacing. “Most men would declare this ‘the life’. I declare it as vile and revolting.” Tom announced his presence, watching in disgust as the woman gave a high pitched screech, tearing herself off Chase in a matter of seconds. Quickly, she took her abandoned dress from the floor and attempted to cover herself up. Her eyes were wide and terrified while her fingers were clutched tightly to the black dress hiding her breasts.

 

“What are you doing in here?” Chase demanded, gathering a throw pillow from the sofa and covering his rather small arousal. “I specifically asked for no visitors-,”

 

“I’m afraid your security guard was rather… preoccupied” Tom murmured, approaching the vanity which held various and wide ranges of alcohol. He needed something strong. Helping himself to a crystallized tumbler, he turned his back on the two to pour a small amount of scotch. “Nah, uh,” he hissed in laughter, wandlessly locking the door before the naked bitch could escape. “You are not going _anywhere_ , sweetheart.”

 

She trembled against the door, banging on it with her talon nails. Tom didn’t worry, not when a silencing charm was up. “What do you want, damn it?” Chase growled again.

 

“What is the rush, Chase?” Tom turned with a regal spin, leaning up against the vanity. He sipped the scotch, enjoying the burn down his throat. “After such a _stunning_ win tonight, you should have all the time in the world.” He paid no heed to the sobbing woman in the corner. His prey was Chase, and only Chase. “It _is_ rather surprising that you manage to keep in business after twenty thousand Gallons were taken from your organization. Tell me, does the Department of Magical Games and Sports know of your alternate business in Moscow?”

 

Chase had just finished tucking his junk in his pants when his chubby face grew red. “How did you know about that? What the hell do you want? Who are you?”

 

Holding the crystal tumbler in his hand, he stuck up his index finger. “One question at a time, please. I have a terrible migraine.” He turned toward the sobbing bitch. “And _you_ are not making it any better.” With his opposite hand, he flicked it toward her, silencing her as she slumped unconscious. 

 

Turning back to Chase, Riddle eyed the protruding belly in revulsion. “I only want one thing from you, Chase. I’m sure we will come into an agreement.”

 

“Oi? And what is your offering?” Chase sniffed, his black beard breezing with the intake of breath. Outwardly, he didn’t seem afraid of Riddle.

 

Throwing back the rest of the scotch, Tom pulled out the money pouch. “I have twenty thousand Gallons here. The exact amount you lost toward the Falcons. I will also withhold the information of your doings in Moscow. All for Harry Potter.”

 

Chase gave a booming laugh. “For Potter? You expect me to give away the greatest and youngest Seeker in the Quidditch program? The boy is a superstar; I rank twenty thousand Gallons almost every game because of that boy. Take your money and shove it up your arse. And get the hell out of here.”

 

Not what Tom was expecting, but nonetheless, it looked as if he had to get a little dirty. “You are making a big mistake-,”

 

“You think I’m not used to threats? You won’t do anything, none of them do. As far as my business in Moscow, you will not be able to prove I am behind it.” Chase laughed. “But you gave a good effort in trying to intimidate me.”

 

“A good effort?” Tom repeated, advancing slowly toward the foolish man. “Poor soul, I haven’t even _started_ to intimidate you.” He stopped toe to toe with the man. Or rather, belly to belly. Chase was significantly overweight, it didn’t matter that Riddle was perceptibly the taller. His wand was still held loosely in his fingers, just itching to be used. “Have you ever heard of the expression, ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’, Mr. Chase?”

 

The man stayed silent, his brow starting to bead just slightly as Tom pushed his wand into his naked chest. With glee, Tom watched Chase’s gaze flicker toward his own wand a few feet away and then back at him. Even if the foolish man had his wand, it would make no difference.

 

“You see, I do not take rejection well. So, the more you refuse, the more pain it will cause you.” He flicked his wand with exaggeration, watching in delight as a sharp knife appeared at the point. 

 

“You’re bloody crazy!” Chase yelled. The perspiration on his brow increased significantly. His eyes grew wide as he studied the knife at the end of Tom’s wand.

 

“No,” Only Riddle’s smile was visible from under his hood. “I only get what I want. And that is Potter.” Chase remained tightlipped, almost as if he thought Riddle wouldn’t do it. “Pity.” Tom murmured in mock sympathy.

 

In a calm, yet full of excitement, Tom reared back the knife and sliced it diagonally across the man’s chest. A scream is what he got in return. The cut was just a clean line, just briefly, until blood began to rise to the surface, seeping down the chest. It was a beautiful color. “You bloody bastard!” Chase screamed in rage, in pain.

 

“Not exactly the answer I was looking for.” Riddle tisked, throwing back his wrist and slashing another cut across the chest. It made a bloody ‘V’. Very fighting.

 

“Aright…. Alright…” Chase gasped, his lips trembling. “We can work out some… kind of…deal…” he gasped for breath, his lip bleeding from biting it. 

 

“I’m afraid I already presented the deal.” Riddle growled out, touching the point of the knife near the start of the first wound. He buried it deeper, wishing he could hear the sound of ripping skin.

 

“ _Alright! Alright!_ You can have him!” Tom ignored him, digging the knife deeper. His fingers became wet with the blood dripping down his wand. Chase collapsed on his knees… but because Tom had the knife imbedded inside the man, the downward motion caused the knife to dig a large wound up to the shoulder.

  
Strangled cries reached Tom’s ears. He shook his head, taking out the knife from the shoulder. “You did that to yourself.” He surveyed the man on the floor, the blood staining the expensive rug. “Now, what is your answer?”

 

“I’ll do it, you get Potter.”

 

Tom smiled. “You will kick him off the Falcons. And you will _not_ speak a word about this to him. You will not tell him about me. If you do, I will find out and you will have more than just a few knife wounds to your chest. You’re a smart man, Chase; you can come up with an explanation as to why you’re getting rid of him.”

 

Panting met his orders. Taking that as his queue to leave, he pulled out the money pouch once again. Dropping the heavy pouch on Chase’s head, Tom turned his heel and made his way toward the exit. With a snap of his wrist, the knife morphed back into the end of his wand.

 

“Who… who are you?” Chase gasped out, trying to look up at Riddle.

 

Pausing near the door, Tom smiled coldly. “You may call me Lord Voldemort.”

 

He made a mental note to destroy the man’s business in Moscow. Just for the fun of it. Perhaps from the inside out, completely destroying Cory Chase in the midst of it. He would be a broken man and no bitch would want to sit on his deformed cock.

 

Exiting the room, he looked down at the body of the security guard. Should he leave it there? Or clean it up?

 

No.

 

That’s what Lucius was for.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Someone knocked on his door, causing Harry to flinch harshly at the sound. He had been sitting at the edge of his bed for the whole night, just staring blankly at the wall. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were cracked with dehydration.  Never once had he licked them, his body stubbornly staying motionless.

 

His lungs wheezed, his sickness growing in the past few hours. Riddle claimed it had been the lack of magic he was performing. But then again, Riddle claimed many other things. A few things Harry refused to think about, yet he thought about them all night long.

 

The knock sounded again and he turned his neck around at the door, the joints cracking. “Who- who is it?” He had to pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth to speak.

 

“Potter, its Cory.” The gruff voice barked out from the other side of the door. Harry continued to sit, frowning. Cory Chase never visited his personal rooms. “I need to have a word with you. Please open your door.”

 

Slowly standing, Harry reached for the door, opening it to reveal an equally tired Cory. “What is it, sir?” Harry’s voice was hoarse. Clearing his throat, he attempted to lose the scratchiness. “Do we have a team meeting?”

 

Cory’s face seemed to crumble just slightly. “May I come in?” Without waiting for approval, the owner of the Falcons stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Chase pulled at his robes around his chest, a subconscious gesture. Harry leaned against the wall, waiting for him to begin. “There have been some… conflicts regarding your position on the team, Harry.”

 

Harry blinked slowly, feeling his pulse rise. “What do you mean?”

 

Cory turned his washed out eyes toward him, licking his lips nervously. “I have to let you go, Harry.”

 

Shaking his head, unable to believe it, Harry pushed off from the wall. “I… I don’t understand, sir. I- I thought I was doing a decent job, I-,”

 

“No, don’t ever think you haven’t.” Chase looked as if he were going to touch Harry’s shoulder, but he dropped his hand. “You’re young, Potter. You have a whole career ahead of you. A few teams expressed their interests in having you. I needed the money-,”

 

“You gave me away for money?” Harry asked dryly, unfeeling. “I gave your team a winning streak.” He breathed in deeply, feeling the world around him spin. Closing his eyes, he attempted to hold in the sobs threatening to break through. “You don’t understand how much I need this team, sir. Please… please…”

 

“You can go to another team, Potter. So many would love to have you.”

 

Harry kept his eyes closed as he tried to breathe in deeply to control his tears. “The contract-,”

 

“Is void, Potter.” This time a hand did touch his shoulder and Harry reared away from it, unable to believe this was happening. “You can leave whenever you want. If you’d like help packing your things, get one of the boys to help you.” Slitting open his eyes, Harry watched Cory Chase exit the room quickly.

 

Once the door shut, Harry hissed lowly, falling in a low crouch on the floor. His fingers sought his hair, clenching the already unruly strands. Coughing, attempting to hold in his sobs, he grimaced.

 

His life…

 

…Completely turned over in a matter of hours.

 

“Why?” He growled out, slamming a fist to the floor.

 

After Riddle’s conversation last night, Harry had been broken by the news. A part of him still didn’t want to believe Riddle. How could he? Yet he realized he had Quidditch to fall back on and continue on playing to take his mind off things. But now that was gone. The only thing that could make him sane was _gone_. And for what? What was the reason Chase let him go? For some _money?_

 

He sat crouched on the ground, feeling dizzy and lost. Who did he have to turn to? Who did he trust enough with the information Riddle told him? The man claimed Dumbledore knew of the Ministry’s dirty glamour… did he really?

 

Clenching his jaw, Harry stood up. Looking around the room, the room that had been his the past three months. He had grown a living in here, yet all he planned on taking were things he could carry.

 

Walking toward his sack, he pulled in his invisibility cloak and a single pouch of money. He hesitated near the box in the corner of his closet. It held his wand, an object he hadn’t taken out since his days at Hogwarts.

 

He vowed to himself he wouldn’t use magic again. He had said he would leave for the muggle world or leave the country and start anew if Quidditch fell through. Only because of his curse he had. The vile thing Riddle called a ‘Magus’. He never asked to hold such power, and he didn’t want that kind of influence over ‘normal’ wizards. All he wanted was to be normal, perhaps succeeding further than others in Quidditch.

 

Attention wasn’t something he ever dreamed of. Hence the reasons why he refused to even try at schoolwork and instead focused on flying. Sirius supported him after his parents’ death at the age of ten… and his godfather said Harry could be anything he wanted to.

 

And Sirius would be proud no matter what.

 

Harry thought he had everything covered. But now… now he was at that crossroad between trying to accept his Magus or following his promise of leaving Britain.

 

Which way would he go?

 

Looking at his wand one last time, he realized he needed to see one last thing before he decided.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

“My Lord?”

 

Tom looked up from his desk at the blonde aristocrat. “What _is_ it Lucius? I’m busy-,”

 

“Potter was spotted entering the Ministry.”

 

Slamming his text closed, Tom hurried out the room.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

 

Ducking in a dark corner, Harry breathed in deeply. It had been easy enough getting into the Ministry- despite the many stares and autographs he was pestered with. Other than the appreciative glances, he found his way to the elevator, realizing he couldn’t go all the way down to the tenth floor of the Ministry. The Unspeakables level. He would only venture to floor number nine and then he would continue on with the stairs.

 

Riddle indicated the Unspeakable did their experiments on Dark creatures and wizards on floor number ten. 

 

It was laughable, really. Why would the Light commit such crimes?

 

Nonetheless, Harry wanted to see it for himself. If this was the _real_ reason his parents and Sirius were murdered, Harry wanted to know. But if there turned out to be no Unspeakable lab with the Dark creatures, Harry would move away from Britain, perhaps in the muggle world or signing with another Quidditch league.

 

_But if you do see what Riddle was talking about? What then?_

 

Looking around the corridor, Harry covered himself with the invisibility cloak. To outsiders, they would no longer see him. The Unspeakables, in specifically, wouldn’t notice him. Hopefully.

 

Tightening his grip on his father’s cloak, Harry exited the dark corner and made for the stairs. He’d rather not use the elevator to go down to the Unspeakable level. Imagine the elevator opening for no one. It would look suspicious and Harry wanted to enter and exit as quietly as he could.

 

Sweating from the adrenaline, he climbed down the flight of stairs. Ahead, he could see the steel door leading into level ten. It was prohibited to many citizens that were not Ministry workers.

 

Abruptly, Harry stopped as he spotted two figures on the other side of the door. One of them was a Ministry worker, the other was not. Lucius Malfoy and Tom Riddle were visible through the window on the door. They were standing nonchalantly in the hallway, as if they belonged there. Backing up to a stop, Harry gave a shaky shudder, wondering what to do. Why was Riddle there?

 

And how the hell was he going to-,

 

Watching with interest, Harry observed another Ministry worker approach the two. He couldn’t hear the conversation but Lucius Malfoy looked regal as he spoke back to the man. He motioned to Tom. The unknown Ministry official shook his head, motioning to the stairs. Whatever they were speaking of, Lucius looked far from happy, his mouth a deep frown as he appraised the official with a look of disdain.

 

Riddle smiled smoothly and opened the door to the stairs. Harry reared away, making sure the door didn’t knock him to the ground. “Bloody bastard,” Malfoy whispered spitefully as they exited level ten and made their way to the stairs.

 

“Potter won’t get far, Lucius, not when security is at its highest today. Let’s just continue on our look out from the stairs. The boy would be foolish to use the elevator.” Harry held in his breath as they brushed past them.

 

“He’s _always_ a fool, My Lord.” Lucius sneered.

 

Harry sneered back at the blonde from under the cloak, but froze when Riddle froze. Slowly, dark eyes turned to him- almost as if they could see straight through his cloak. “Harry?” Riddle breathed, furrowing his brows. And then the man struck.

 

It was too quick for Harry to grasp, especially when he considered no one would see under the cloak. But Riddle had and he was currently pulling off his cloak. “Bloody _hell_.” Harry stated, surprised.

 

Riddle looked down at the cloak bunched up in his fingers. “Invisibility cloak…” he then looked back down at Harry. With a strange gleam in his eye, he pushed Harry’s shoulder, slamming him against the wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You are _foolish_.”

 

With Riddle’s patronizing tone and Lucius agreed nod, Harry lifted his lip and growled. “What the hell do you think I would do?!” He pushed back at the man he had always wanted to beat to the ground. Riddle went stumbling backwards into Malfoy, a surprised look on his face. “You told me something I needed to find out for myself. I cannot trust you until I see with my own two eyes. Now give me back my cloak.”

 

“And do you think you’ll just _waltz_ right in there, Mr. Potter?” Lucius drawled, his nose upturned in the air.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the blonde. “I’d probably get farther than you just tried to do.”

 

The blonde’s eyes widened as if he had never heard someone talk back to him. “Excuse me?”

 

“I said your reputation is just as dirty and tarnished as your arse, you bloody bastard. You’re not above the law.” The whites around Malfoy’s eyes appeared as he stared down his nose at Harry. “Would you like me to repeat that? Or-,”

 

“I think that is quite enough, Harry.” Riddle spoke up, holding his hand up to Lucius as if the blonde were some lap dog. “I don’t want you going in there. I never intended for you to enter the Unspeakable lair. That was not my intention. It’s very difficult to enter without notice or capture.” He paused and his voice lowered. “Your parents attempted to get away, don’t follow in their footsteps.”

 

“I’m doing this _for_ my parents.” Harry shot back, snatching his cloak from Riddle’s hands. “If you want my help, I have to trust your word that they are doing this. You didn’t expect me to follow you blindly, did you?”

 

He stared directly into Riddle’s eyes as the man assessed him. “Do you promise me to take a glimpse and _nothing_ more?”

 

“What do you expect me to do? Clean the bloody place?” He pulled the invisibility cloak over him once again. “It would be rather helpful if you could tell me what door, exactly.”

 

Malfoy looked enraged. “You’re letting him-,”

 

Riddle coldly turned his shoulder at Lucius, stopping the blonde without words. “Fifth door on the right, Mr. Potter. It shouldn’t be locked. There is an office before the labs; I suggest you walk _lightly_ past the desk and toward the lab in the backroom. I will be waiting here for your return.”

 

Harry refused to answer as he turned toward the door and opened it. He shut the door quietly behind him, leaving the two adults on the other side. The floors were a glossy black brick, as were the walls. Doors upon doors seemed to continue on forever. He wondered briefly what each one of them guarded. Horrible secrets? Experiments gone wrong? Or experiments that were too advanced for the normal citizens of the wizarding world?

 

He knew Unspeakables were like superior beings. They could fight, they could invent, they could do practical anything better than others.

 

A Ministry official, looking more like a security wizard, turned toward Harry as the door clicked shut. Pausing, Harry waited until the man scratched his temple and then continued on down the hallway. There were two security wizards on either side of the hall. It was a _long_ hall and both of them were heading the opposite direction. If he was going to move, he had to do it _now_ before the man on the other side came within distance.

 

One.

 

Two….

 

His fingers splayed the glossy bricks as he counted his way to door number five. He imagined walking down the same path his parents had walked almost seven years ago. From what Harry heard and knew, both Lily and James were brilliant Aurors, powerful and almost cunning. All they intended to do was find Remus and save him… they didn’t expect to find…

 

Three.

 

Well, they didn’t expect to find what Harry hoped wasn’t on the other side of the door.

 

Four.

 

If they really were murdered by the Ministry, then that meant Peter Pettigrew was falsely thrown in Azkaban. Harry knew the man went to prison without a trial. He hadn’t thought twice on it because he wanted vengeance for his parents’ death. But now it seemed unjust. It made Riddle’s story seem so much more true.

 

Five.

 

He took a deep breath, standing in front of the ominous black door. This was it…. Merlin, his life would change either way. Reaching out of his cloak, he turned the knob. As Riddle indicated, the room wasn’t locked. Inside, there appeared to be a comfortable office. A man sat at an oak desk, facing the wall. He wore a white cloak, looking almost like a Healer. Glasses slid down his hooked nose as he scribbled on a piece of parchment. His fingers were coal black, stained with ink.

 

Frankly, he looked like a nerd, someone Ron and Harry would have made fun of in Hogwarts. It was a hard awakening that looks could be deceiving and beyond that nerd could be a mastermind, a powerful enemy.

 

Many things had been awakenings for Harry.

 

Just a few hours ago, he’d thought he’d had it rough. He thought that playing Quidditch was great, yet the fame was horrible. He wasn’t thankful for much, but there were others who suffered more. He had been a child all through Hogwarts, and now, now he felt as if he were maturing- seeing things from the adult perspective. It was a rude awakening, but something he needed in order to grow.

 

Making sure the door shut as quietly as possible, Harry made his way toward the back room. It was a swinging door and it was conveniently right next to the man at the desk. Thinking quickly, Harry reached out to the door he had just entered and rasped his knuckles across the wood.

 

Watching the Unspeakable look up at the door in curiosity, Harry slowly moved closer to the back room. Once the wizard’s back was turned fully, Harry ducked away into the backroom, congratulating himself.

 

But his smugness didn’t last as he met sight with the room.

 

And here he thought he’d already received his rude awakening.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 

Riddle had lied.

 

As much as he acted like he didn’t trust Riddle, he had, secretly, wanted to see devastation behind the door. But there was none.

 

Harry gave a breathless laugh, feeling the world spin. Nothing was inside the room but abandoned trinkets and magical objects. It was all but a storage room… And he had been stupid enough to fall for Riddle’s lies.

 

Just as he wondered why the man would go through all the trouble and try to convince Harry the Ministry was doing illegal experiments, an alarm sounded. It pierced his eardrums, no doubt ruining his hearing for a good while.

 

Shakily, he covered his ears, staring at nothing. He should be running, he should be trying to escape and take shelter, but all he could do was stare.

 

Riddle had planned all this. The man was the _only_ one who knew of Harry’s _curse_. Harry thought the man had his own agenda with his cult, but he realized how foolish he was. Riddle used to work at the Ministry… the man was all but a generous and ‘charming’ man of the society. Of course he would want Harry eliminated because of the power he had, because of the abnormality.

 

Riddle knew Harry would come. Their conversation they shared last night at the restaurant was a trap to lure him here. The man, no doubt, told the Ministry of his status of being a Magus and they had been waiting for him to arrive. To kill him, destroy him, or use him as their tool.

 

He had been played.

 

Harry had to hand it to the man. It was a brilliant scheme. After hearing Riddle’s recollection of his parents’ death, of Sirius’ death, Harry thought he had something to live for finally. He had wanted to take down the Ministry, take revenge for their act of murdering his parents.

 

But it was all a _lie._

 

The alarm not only made his ears partially death, but he couldn’t move. At all. The wand in his pocket burned, urging him to take hold of it in defense. But his fingers were stubbornly still at his ears. He couldn’t turn, but he was aware of the Unspeakable behind him.

 

“I know you’re in here,” the voice barked out.

 

Harry gasped softly, feeling his magic ripple around him. The atmosphere was thick, almost if it was draining his magic and strength. They _were_ Unspeakables and judging from the room he stepped in, they had more than enough time to experiment with intruders.

  
Before he could comprehend it, his invisibility cloak was torn off him and a wand was in his face.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

The alarms were ringing and Lucius cried out, pushing his palms into his ears. Tom frowned, pushing off from the stair railing. He made his way quickly toward the door to the Unspeakable level, but Lucius grabbed hold of his elbow, pulling him back. “My Lord,” he spoke, scandalized. “You cannot go in there. Your cover will be blown for what? A little boy who stuck his hand in the jar doubtless of the consequences?”

 

Tom pulled his hand back, giving Lucius a warning stare. “Leave Lucius,” with a quick wave of his wand, his cloak was stained black. He pulled up his hood, turning his back on the blonde. “I don’t want your identity to be discovered.”

 

“What?” Lucius called at his back, his voice strained. “What are you doing this for? He’s just a worthless-,”

 

“He’s a Magus.” Tom hissed back softly, dangerously.

 

Lucius’ eyes widened. “There…there hasn’t been a Magus in centuries.” For once, the blonde was a stuttering idiot.

 

“A Magus is said to be magic in its physical form, Lucius. Magi _are_ magic.” Tom informed softly, his voice full of desire. “Yet Mr. Potter thinks of it as a curse. I will attempt taming him and making him accept his gift.” Tom took an advancing step forward, looming over Lucius. “Can you even comprehend the power that will befall us if he joins me willingly? I can’t leave the Unspeakables to use him. _That,_ Lucius, is why I am going after him.”

 

Lucius remained silent, too stunned for words. Tom couldn’t blame the man. It had taken him a long while to come to terms with living in the same century as a Magus. A younger man at that. Children….they were so impressionable.

 

Turning, he left and entered the black marbled hall. He sprinted to the fifth door; well aware of the fact Unspeakables would soon be flooding the corridor.

 

Pulling open the door, he caught sight of the Unspeakable pulling off the invisibility cloak from the frozen form of Potter. “I don’t think so,” he hissed coldly, flicking his wand toward the man. The Unspeakable went flying, landing unconscious after a blow to the head. “Potter,” Riddle quickly strolled over to the form of Potter, feeling the magic around the room. He quickly cast a shield around himself and Potter, stopping the magic from paralyzing the both of them.

 

Harry moved, his green eyes narrowing at him. “What are you doing here?” The boy hissed, almost as worthy as a Slytherin.

 

“Saving your arse, boy.” Riddle grabbed Potter’s shoulder, pulling him away from the room.

 

“ _No!”_ The foolish child ripped out of his hold. “You lied. There was _nothing_ in the room.” Tom paused, looking into the bare room. The boy was right.

 

“If I were to set you up, child, why would I be saving you? They must have moved their quarters. Now come, we need to leave.”  He pulled the light boy away, hearing the running footsteps close in on them.

 

“Wait… my invisibility cloak.”

 

“We don’t have time.”

 

“But my father-,” he croaked out desperately.

 

The door exploded, sending them flying back further into the room. Tom gave a grunt as he landed heavily against the wall, sliding down next to the unconscious Unspeakable he had attacked earlier.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry got on his hands and knees, scrambling to reach his invisibility cloak. He knew, despite his resistance in using his abnormal power, that he would have to use it. In the doorway, Unspeakables piled in, their wands at the ready. Their faces were covered by white hoods, but Harry was certain they would resemble the nerdy looking man unconscious next to him. The Unspeakables had belts around their cloaks, almost looking like utility belts. Gadgets were attached to the belts, looking completely harmless.

 

Once his fingers curled around the silky material of his invisibility cloak, an Unspeakable tossed a small sphere at Riddle and him.

 

Harry dodged on top of Riddle, ignoring the man’s irritated grunt. “Please Professor, go along with me.” He whispered softly, wincing when the ball thrown exploded near his knee.

 

A glowing sphere entrapped them, blocking off any possible exit. “And what, Mr. Potter, is your plan?” The tone was dry, sarcastic.

 

“Act defenseless.”

  
Before Riddle could open his mouth and protest, Harry laid his hand over the man’s lips from beneath his hood. He gave a startled gasp as the sphere they were in, lifted, seemingly a glowing bubble. Riddle pushed Harry backward, his wand shooting out a curse at the bubble. It shot back at him and the man scarcely moved in time to avoid the curse. “Don’t try escaping,” one Unspeakable chuckled, eyeing them as if they were animals on display. “It will only cause harm.”

 

The group of Unspeakables, raging to around twenty laughed, their poses relaxed.

 

Riddle gave a long and irritated hiss. Harry sat back, amazed, feeling the man’s magic spark. Unlike his own, Riddle’s was tamed, yet it had a dangerous tone to it. The man’s magic was smooth and strong…. almost electrifying and alluring. Harry bit his lip as his body all but reacted and turned to face one of the Unspeakables.

 

“I know you,” the man crooned, his hooded head cocking to the side. “You’re the famous Seeker, Harry Potter.” Harry tensed as they considered him. He was ruined. He could no longer go out in public; they would forever hunt him down. “I knew your parents too.”

 

The man chuckled coldly. Harry frowned, feeling something within him protest with the man’s statement.

 

“James and Lily Potter, yes,” another spoke up. From beneath their hood, Harry watched a smile grow. It wasn’t a comforting smile, not a reminiscing smile… “A pity you had to follow in their footsteps.”

 

Harry snapped his head to stare at Riddle. The man, although in a bubble, pulled off a nonchalant and graceful pose. His attention was on Harry, silently watching, silently _knowing._ Dropping his gaze to the invisibility cloak in his hands, Harry tried to control his anger. He brought the cloak up to his face, inhaling it, trying to calm. His imagination tried to pick up the long lost scent of his father.

 

“And Sirius Black of course.”

 

Harry tipped back his head and spread his arms out. His fingers grazed the edge of the bubble and he drew together the monster inside of him.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Tom knew the moment he lost his Gem. The boy was lost, completely unconscious underneath the Magus. _This_ was where Tom needed to guide and teach Harry. The boy was out of control when his emotions got the best of him. At Hogwarts, Harry had been in more control of his Magus because he had been around magic; he had been casting magic throughout the school year.  

 

Now though… the boy had been distancing himself from magic all together this summer. He had been in a magical withdrawal, causing his control to lessen with time.

 

“Control, Harry,” Tom whispered, leaning forward toward his Gem. This was his time to coach.

 

The bubble surrounding them brightened and broke out with lightening bolts. The Unspeakables stepped backward. Tom cursed mentally. He didn’t want his enemies to know the boy’s nature until later, much later in the game. But it was unavoidable. This was his doing. He had allowed the boy to enter the Unspeakable lair.

 

Tom was thrown back as they sped forward, pushing their way past the dodging Unspeakables. Those who did not escape in time where electrocuted, rather severely from what Tom could see. Their skin and robes burned, screams of pain lingering as they sped past. They were racing at a neck breaking speed, flying past any wizard who stood in their way. Harry steered the sphere with both fingers touching the sides.

 

Tom felt nauseas, closing his eyes against the speed. They all but tore through the door to the stairs, nothing able to stand in their path.

 

Twists, turns… falls, rise…

 

It was a ride Tom would never forget. 

 

They were nearing the exit to the Ministry and Tom knew they couldn’t possibly go through solid ground and rock to get to the muggle world. Gathering up his own magic and balance, Tom reached out to lay a hand on the small shoulder of the Magus. The boy flinched suddenly, shuddering at the contact. And Tom realized the fault in his thinking. He couldn’t coach Harry through this. Not now.

 

The boy didn’t trust him well enough yet.

 

In Harry’s eyes, Tom was all but a common enemy.

 

With reflexes that would surprise even the Seeker, Tom stuck his wand into Harry’s ribs, stunning the boy. The Magus’ lighting around the sphere disappeared as the boy fell unconscious. With his fall, the bubble all but popped. The two wizards went down heavily, rolling from the impact. Around them, common Ministry workers frowned at the display. It wouldn’t be long until Aurors and Unspeakables came attacking.

 

Breathing deeply, Tom took hold of the lithe body in his arms. He stood up shakily, his world still spinning. The boy, although appearing thin and light, wasn’t all that weightless. Still, his fingers were tightly possessive around his Gem. He cradled the boy to his chest and quickly jogged to the exit. No one attempted to stop him, not when they were too confused to comprehend the reasoning behind a floating sphere with two wizards inside.

 

“Catch him!”

 

Riddle turned to glance over his shoulder, spotting a few Unspeakables sprinting after.

 

Quickly entering the elevator to the muggle world, Tom pointed his wand toward the closest Unspeakable who had another gadget in his hand. _“Avada Kedavra,”_ he hissed, chuckling as he watched the body fall limply to the ground. Oh…how the wizarding world would be up in arms over the kill. Would they think he was Lord Voldemort? Or would they come up with another story?

 

Once the door to the elevator shut, Tom brought his Gem closer, inhaling the crook of the boy’s neck.

 

Pure power.

 

He knew his first step in training and helping Harry would be to make the boy trust him.

 

But was he willing to open up to someone so entirely? Was he willing to become vulnerable?

 

The thought didn’t appeal to him, but he would do anything to get Potter under control and on his side. The boy was not like his other followers. No, he had to do something a little more _special_ with Harry in order to keep him. And if it involved trust and openness, like the boy obviously treasured, than Tom figured he could make an exception. Just… _one_ exception.

 

“My Lord,” Lucius, the fool, hadn’t left. He was waiting near the outside of the Ministry. Once Tom stepped foot on solid ground he flashed the blonde a look before apparating. Hopefully the man would be smart enough and apparate just as quickly.

 

He arrived at his manor. With time, he knew he would no longer be safe so out in the open. It was time to move underground or somewhere not as well known. Dumbledore, the old fool, knew where he resided. And with Harry in his care, Tom wouldn’t risk the man ‘popping’ around and seeing the boy. The man already knew of Tom. Tom had no doubt. The only reason Dumbledore kept Tom at the school after old Headmaster Dippet hired him was to keep an eye on him.

 

It was the reason why Tom didn’t have as many followers as he could have.

 

“The boy… is he…” Lucius cracked into position at his right. Tom ignored him, tugging Harry closer to him as Lucius attempted to peer at the boy. “He’s really a Magus.”

 

“He is,” Tom concluded. “Albeit he’s an uncontrolled Magus. He allows his emotions to overpower his common sense.”

 

“An uncontrolled Magus?” Lucius questioned, his lips thinning. “A very dangerous risk, My Lord. Are you certain you want to risk your life training him?” The blonde sounded like the bloody Salazar Slytherin portrait.

 

“I’m more than certain, Lucius.”

 

“But, I thought only Magi could be trained by other Magi. Their power could level out the uncontrolled-,”

 

With a free hand, Tom tugged down his hood, narrowing his eyes at Lucius. “Do you underestimate my power, Lucius?” The man paled, shaking his head fervently, too ashamed to speak. “I am powerful enough to protect myself against him. Do not make the mistake of underestimating me again.”

 

And just as he thought the blonde would shut his mouth…

 

“Would you like me to levitate the boy for you?”

 

Tom stopped short at the _insult_ and slowly turned his gaze on the blonde. “Leave, Lucius, _now._ ” He then turned his back fully on the blonde and continued inside. He didn’t even _look_ to see if Lucius followed him or not, he slammed the door behind him nonetheless.

 

He eyed the dark and elegant atmosphere of his manor, thinking where he would place Harry when he woke the boy up. Thinking the living room would do well enough, he laid the lithe body on the couch, staring down at the boy. He studied the dark circles and almost waxy quality to the boy’s skin. Not only did Tom have to train Harry in politics, manners, and his magic… but also in eating properly. And sleeping properly.

 

The boy’s cheekbones stuck out too much, causing his cheeks to be sunken.

 

Still. Tom had to admit the boy wasn’t so harsh to look at.

 

Pursing his lips, Tom took his wand out and touched it to Harry’s chin. With deliberate slowness, he trailed his wand point across the curve of the Gryffindor’s prominent jaw.

 

He finally had his Gem in his possession. He could admit that he felt…complete. His army was not large enough to take on the Ministry. As was proven today, the Unspeakables were a very large threat. Their members weren’t just decent duelers; they had talents in every area imaginable. The most frightening thing about the Unspeakables was their secrecy and brilliance. Tom had only _one_ spy with the Unspeakables and he was slowly becoming to realize he might not have such a great hold over the spy as he initially thought.

 

The Ministry had moved their bases.

 

Harry hadn’t seen what Tom claimed was inside the room. It was a pity, really. Tom knew he would have trouble getting the boy to trust him without so much proof. Perhaps another method was necessary. Perhaps…perhaps his memories would be sufficient enough.

 

He turned his thoughts back on the gain he would receive from Potter’s presence. If he could get the boy to see it his way, he would have a Magus on his side. The thought was very difficult to conceive, even after finding out about it months ago. Magi were rare, almost impossible nowadays. Tracing his eyes across the small body on his couch, he wondered at the magic lashing through such a lithe frame.

 

Tom needed Harry’s agreement to join.

 

He just needed the power.

 

 _“Enervate,”_ he murmured, his wand pushing into his Gems’ throat. He kept it poised, ready to stun the Magus if the boy was still out of control.

 

He hadn’t needed to worry.

 

Avada Kedavra eyes blinked open, looking confused before they locked with him. “Riddle,” Harry growled lightly, frowning.

 

Removing his wand from Potter’s throat, Tom stood, waiting patiently for the boy’s memories to catch up with him. It was common for victims of the stunning curse to take time to remember what had transpired to their current position. He wondered, briefly, if Harry would remember what had happened when his Magus, his magic, took control of him. Judging from the boy’s grey pallor, Tom thought there was a pretty good chance.

 

“Do you remember what happened, Mr. Potter?” His tone was that of a professor.

 

Green eyes dilated. “Merlin, oh Merlin…” And then Tom watched the guilt spread over the boy’s face as he no doubt remembered what his power had done to the Unspeakables. Tom had no qualms about torture and death. What Harry had done hadn’t affected him one bit. In fact, Tom would have probably done worse if he had the time and backup.

 

But if he looked at it from the boy’s perspective, he assumed _this_ was why the boy didn’t accept his gift.

 

“You did nothing wrong,” Tom continued, conjuring a chair beside Harry’s laid out form. “They would have dissected you, picked you apart by the last nerve and then reconstructed you to use you. Or, conceivably, take your magic from your core.” Such a procedure was difficult, but Tom had no doubt the Unspeakables knew how to accomplish such a task. In fact, Tom was studying how to absorb another wizard’s magic for himself. He hadn’t stumbled across a ritual, but he believed, with time, he would.

 

“They…they can take magic?” Potter stuttered, as eloquent as ever. “You mean, they can cure me?” Green eyes, so bright with hope, looked up at him.

 

“You idiot,” Tom hissed, narrowing his eyes. “There is nothing to cure about you. What you did saved the both of us.” He paused, debating if he should thank the boy, but decided against it.

 

“I didn’t. I killed.” The boy closed his eyes.

 

At times like these, Tom wondered how he could put up with the boy. Harry was so young. And he did not know of the darkness of the world. However, Tom would show the boy. He would milk the boy to his side, forever keeping him.

 

“Would you like to know why your power seems dark to you, Mr. Potter?” He didn’t wait for the boy to answer, only because he was certain Harry wouldn’t respond. “It’s because you have absolutely no control over it. Your emotions, they are the leading factor to your outbursts. You cannot control your power and because of that, you fear your power. You must take rein of your magic and make it obey you.”

 

Harry opened his eyes, quietly studying Tom. He was slightly surprised the child hadn’t talked back to him in an immature, hot tempered, manner. Perhaps the boy was maturing. After all, there were many life altering events that had befallen the boy recently.

 

“I could help you control your magic, Mr. Potter. I could help you become one with your Magus instead of having it control you. You would be conscious of your actions when using your gift.” He paused, possibly for the dramatic affect. “I can help you.” He repeated heatedly.

 

Those green eyes studied him again, eyes that had darkened over the course of the summer, but eyes that Riddle vowed he would brighten once again. “Why do I get the feeling you are only doing this to benefit yourself?”

 

It was so abrupt…and such a… _smart_ and Slytherin comment.

 

Tom could barely manage a straight face as he looked down at the boy. His assumptions of the boy maturing had been correct. Harry still had a long way to go before he could be considered a mature and worthy adult, but Tom could see the time approaching shortly.

 

“I am going to benefit, yes,” he admitted dryly, a quirk to his lips. “But so will you.”

 

Harry remained silent, almost a gloomy sort of silence.

 

“I don’t like you at all.” He blurted out, causing Tom to blink in slight surprise. “And I don’t like the…cult, or whatever you have.” 

 

“You know the reason why I have _followers_ , Mr. Potter.” He ignored the first statement and chose to address the second half. “Because-,”

 

“Because you claim the Unspeakables are experimenting on Dark creatures and wizards, yes, I remember. And because they killed my parents.” The Gryffindor pursed his lips, his eyes averted away from Tom. “But I didn’t see the proof.”

 

Tom withheld an exasperated sigh. “I had a contact within the Unspeakables, Mr. Potter. He didn’t inform me they moved their main base. Your godfather, Sirius Black, stumbled across one of their bases on his foreign missions. They have others labs. And about your parents, were the Unspeakables words today not proof enough? They said-,”

 

“I know what they said,” Harry snapped, irritated. He tried to sit up, but slumped back down. The boy looked weak and Tom knew, because he was uncontrolled with his magic, that it would drain him more easily. “I know what they said,” he whispered again, his frown deep. “Could I have time alone for a minute? I just need to think, alone.”

 

Tom stood up fluidly, giving a sharp nod. “I will allow you a few moments before we have to change locations.”

 

Before he could leave the room, Harry’s question halted him. “Why?”

 

Without turning, he answered. “Because Dumbledore has suspected me since I’ve stepped foot at Hogwarts. And because the Unspeakables saw your face, you are now a wanted criminal. And Dumbledore, naturally, will have an idea who was with you today. He’ll be here shortly, I have no doubt.” He realized that the Unspeakables would realize Harry carried a great amount of power for breaking through their gadget.

 

They would know he was a Magus…or at least something special. Unfortunately.

 

He sneered before turning to walk in the kitchen.

 

He would let the boy stew over it for a few minutes before leaving.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

His whole body was sore and his raw magic raised the hairs of his arms. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. But he had no time to rest because Riddle was in the next room, waiting for his consent.

 

But his consent about what, exactly?

 

Harry was sure Riddle wanted his agreement in accepting the man’s training. And as much as he’d like to deny it, the idea of taming his… _curse_ sounded appealing. If he wanted to stay in the wizarding world, he would have to get his Magus under control. Not half arse like he had been attempting during Hogwarts.

 

Of course, there was another option, an option that didn’t involve Riddle’s presence.

 

Running.

 

Breathing deeply, Harry shut his eyes, his mind racing. If he didn’t accept Riddle’s help, he would have to be on the run from the Ministry. No matter what world he lived in. They would hunt him down, more likely the Unspeakables. Even if he lived in the Muggle world, under disguise, there was a chance they would catch him. But if Harry accepted Riddle’s help in training him, he would be comfortable with his powers and be able to defend himself if the Ministry came hunting him.

 

But he still didn’t trust Riddle at all. The man… was selfish and arrogant. Riddle even admitted he would train Harry for his own gain.

 

However… there was yet another option. Take Riddle’s offer and get his magic under control and once that happened, he would leave. By then, he wouldn’t go into an uncontrolled rage when he tried to defend himself. And once he left Riddle, Harry would be enjoying his own life, not a life pulled by Riddle and his influence.

 

_But what about revenge?_

 

Harry admitted that he did want revenge on those who killed his parents and Sirius. But he didn’t know the true story.

 

And what about Dumbledore? The Headmaster, surely, didn’t know about his parents and Sirius Black. Harry trusted Dumbledore. He was almost like his grandfather. And to hear, from Riddle, that Dumbledore knew of such experiments from the Ministry would be a hard blow. A blow he couldn’t possibly believe would happen. Dumbledore was kind and logical. He wouldn’t stand for such experiments being done.

 

Right?

 

But if Riddle’s story was somehow true, even after Harry didn’t get a glimpse at the ‘lab’, then what did that mean? Would he willingly go into battle with Riddle? Would he peel his enemies’ skin apart like he had done today with lightning?

 

No.

 

He would be under control. And if he was shown proof of the Ministry’s involvement with wrongful deaths and experiments, then he would fight. But…

 

What was Riddle’s goal?

 

Harry was aware of the man’s presence even before he opened his eyes. Riddle was like a light and Harry, unfortunately, was the moth. Riddle’s magic was extremely enthralling, addicting almost. There was a sense of icy danger around the man as well. Something that warned Harry not to get too close to Riddle or even think of attacking him. It was kind of like observing something from afar, something you always wanted to get close to and touch.

 

Naturally, Harry dismissed both warnings. He was more powerful than the man. Briefly, he wondered what his aura was like to Riddle.

 

“I can do anything.” Harry whispered, keeping his eyes closed. “If I wanted to, I’m sure I could destroy the world.” The thought frightened him, even keeping him up late at night. Surely he couldn’t destroy the world, right? He wasn’t certain of the limits of his Magus. In fact, that little bit of magic today even wore him out. “So what makes you think you can train me efficiently?” 

 

He opened his eyes finally, startled to see the man standing right over him. Riddle hadn’t made a sound. His movements were always silent and graceful, almost making Harry envious.

 

“Oh Harry,” Riddle purred seductively. It was rare the man called him by his given name, especially in such a manner. But it was more of a dangerous purr than a seductive one. “You have no idea of my own power. Granted, you are more powerful than me, but I’m the only one on this world that can assist your magic to be in control.”

 

The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood straight at that promise. He wondered just how powerful the man was. “As much as I’d like to discuss things with you, Mr. Potter, we must get going.” Riddle waved his wand in the air and a few things went flying into boxes and suitcases.

 

“Where are we going?” Harry gathered enough strength to sit up. Lying underneath him, his Invisibility cloak sat. Relief washed over him. It was his prized connection with his father.

 

“Considering the question you have just asked, I assume you agreed to my teachings.” The man didn’t wait to hear a response. “Our first destination is the Malfoy manor,” Riddle replied back nonchalantly.

 

Harry felt something in his chest spark in irritation. “Then this is where we part ways. Because I’m not going there.”

 

Riddle’s boxes and suitcases shrunk and he placed them in one briefcase, slamming it shut before looking at Harry. “The Potters have never liked the Malfoys. Both families are from a long line of Pure-bloods. Natural enemies, of course. But you are on the same side as Lucius and Draco now, Mr. Potter. They will do you no harm.”

 

“I don’t care,” Harry snapped childishly. “I’m not going there. I hate them.”

 

Riddle raised his eyebrows, not looking very impressed with his attitude. “Then where do you purpose we go, Mr. Potter? We need a place to gather our bearings and consider our next course of action. The Malfoy manor offers us excellent protection.” It seemed logical, but Harry wouldn’t admit that.

 

He sat there for a moment, his mind racing. “The Potters have a secret manor.” More like a small house, but he wouldn’t mention it. He then realized what he was saying and shut his mouth. Why would he tell Riddle of his secret family house? “Never mind, Malfoys it is.” He replied gruffly, standing up.

 

Grinning, Riddle reached out an arm and grabbed Harry around his waist, pulling him close. Harry’s cheeks grew red at their closeness. “Hold on tight, then.” Riddle muttered darkly, one arm clutching Harry, the other clutching his suitcase.

 

In a whirl wind, they disappeared from the living room and to outside, standing before a wrought-iron gate. In Riddle’s arms, Harry looked about, studying the tall and sturdy gate. Tall hedges blocked off any glimpse to the front yard of the Malfoy manor. The manor itself peeked above the tall hedges, looking just as Harry predicted… rich.

 

“Come,” Riddle took Harry’s hand and charged at the closed gate. Before Harry could exclaim loudly they would crash, he was cut off as they transported through the closed gate as if smoke. Blinking, Harry tried to gather his bearings before Riddle could see his frightful expression. “The Malfoy’s only allow a selected few to pass through so easily. All other uninvited guests must wait for approval before entering.”

 

Riddle raised their clasped hands in the air. “Because I am approved, my guest, by physical contact, will be as well.”

 

Harry grunted, tearing his hand away from Riddle and wiping it on his robes. The ex professor didn’t spare Harry a glance as he led the way around the elegant fountain and up the marble stair case. “What the _bloody_ hell!” Harry howled, watching as a white…peacock…ran quickly in a maze of gardens. “What the hell?” He asked again, unable to believe there was an albino peacock here.

 

“Refrain from using such coarse language, Mr. Potter,” the man hadn’t even spared a second glance at the albino peacock. “Your eloquence will, of course, be practiced on.”

 

“What does that mean?” Harry snipped. His attention landed on the large black door to the manor. Everything here was so… haughty and severe. It didn’t feel like home. Not like his home he shared with Sirius Black. The man was a pig, yet he made it homey.

 

He shook his head, trying to force out the memories of his godfather. The man had been his _life_ after his parents were murdered. “My Lord,” Lucius greeted in surprise as soon as he opened the door.

 

“My Lord?” Harry quipped, looking at Riddle in disdain. “I hope you don’t expect me to call you that.”

 

The look the man gave him made Harry shut up. Lucius Malfoy was staring at Harry, expressionless. It was almost if the blonde were trying to cover up his real emotions behind a stoic mask. “I should warn you the Ministry was here,” Lucius Malfoy began quietly, opening the door wider for them to enter. As predicted, the inside of the house was just as overdone as the yard. Marble and diamond chandeliers. Sickening.

 

As soon as Harry entered the foyer, he spotted Draco Malfoy standing near the stairs. He sneered. Draco sneered. Before Harry could come up with a snide comment, Riddle questioned Lucius, successfully cutting Harry off. “And? What did they want?”  Lucius gave a pointed look at Harry. “Harry has enough right to be here, Lucius. Continue.”

 

“They suspect you, My Lord. Apparently Dumbledore has been adding his own opinion on you to the matter. And with your presence accompanying me to the Unspeakable level today, they believed you were Potter’s hooded companion. They suspected me as well, but I persuaded them otherwise. I attempted to get you on their good graces as well… but it appears as if they are set on Dumbledore’s own beliefs.” Harry assessed the situation. Riddle didn’t look worried at all. In fact, the man looked amused.

 

“They have no evidence, once so ever.” The man’s dark eyes turned to Harry, paralyzing him. “Mr. Potter, however, will be impossible to clear from the Ministry.”

 

“I think it wouldn’t be too difficult. The boy just stumbled upon a room, did he not? They will have no way to publicize his arrest, My Lord. If they did, they would have to come up with a creative way why he is wanted. And the Ministry is not creative.”

 

No. Harry wished that were it. He wished he had _only_ stumbled upon an empty room; instead, he was wanted for murder. How many Unspeakables had he killed with his magic? One too many.

 

“I’m afraid not,” Riddle drawled, turning back to Lucius. “Their base has moved, Lucius.” Surprisingly, the man changed the subject. “Their lab, it’s gone. I may have to get in contact with our spy and question why he hasn’t told me of their base change.” Riddle breathed deeply, his fingers twitching. Harry was sure the man would do more than just question.

 

“Will you be staying here, My Lord?” Lucius murmured softly. His grey eyes shot to Harry again, assessing him.

 

“Eventually,” Riddle answered. Harry frowned; he had thought they were going to stay with the Malfoys. Not that he was complaining. Riddle must have thought of another safe house. “But in the mean time, I will be in hiding with Mr. Potter. In my absence, I want you to keep your eyes open. We will be in contact, most likely. But I cannot risk our presence here when the Ministry already has their eye on you.”

 

Riddle didn’t give Lucius time to respond. With a flourish of his robes he came striding over to Harry and took him by the wrist. “Where are we going?” Harry questioned, his hand being held securely by Riddle’s thin fingers.

 

“Remember that safe house you told me about, just briefly? The Potter manor?” Harry’s mind took on a vague picture of his house and before he knew it, he was disapparating with Riddle.

 

Looking around, he almost fainted when he was met with the Potter manor. “I… I haven’t been here for _ages_ ,” he stuttered out. “How did you do that? For that matter, why did you do that?” He didn’t want Riddle here, especially when he hadn’t been here since his parents were alive. Merlin, it was hard to look at.

 

“You pictured it in your mind and I side-apparated with you. Simple, really,” Riddle remarked offhandedly as if this issue wasn’t that big of a deal. But it was. To Harry, at least. This small manor was their, James, Lily, and Harry’s, summer home. Whenever they had the need to get away, they would always come here on the shore of a small lake. No one was around. It had been just theirs…

 

Harry remained stiff, his wrist still in Riddle’s hold. The man sighed. “It will only be you and I, Harry. I will tell no one of your family’s safe house. Besides…” Riddle trailed off, looking around the deserted valleys and beach. “This will be a decent spot to train your magic. We can afford mishaps here.”

 

Harry hesitated, staring at the front gate. It was a simple wooden picket fence. “Alright,” he whispered, clutching his Invisibility cloak in his free hand. “But I swear, if you destroy _one_ thing, Riddle, I’ll have your head.”

 

Without waiting for a response, he ripped his hand from the man’s and led the way toward the very same house he buried his memories at.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

The boy was oddly sentimental about the whole thing. Potter’s green eyes dimmed, almost swirling black. Tom had a hunch the boy hadn’t seen the house since his parents had died.

 

As they approached the manor, Tom had to admit that it appeared homey, comfortable. The Malfoy manor was nothing like this, nor was his manor. The Potter manor almost appeared like a cottage with vines growing on the sides of the house and shutters on either side of the windows.

 

As Potter opened the door, Tom could feel the wards bend and enclose around the boy, almost if they were welcoming him home. “Harry Potter,” the boy spoke up shakily. “Willingly invites Tom Riddle to enter and make himself at home.”

 

The wards’ magic then tickled him, becoming familiar with his magical signature. While Potter greeted a well groomed House Elf, Tom glanced around, taking notice of the many portraits surrounding him. The majority of them were of Potter’s ancestors. They looked down their nose at him, frowning in distaste. Tom withheld a smirk. Potters. They were strict Pure-bloods until James Potter came around. By the time James married Lily, all ties to the Potter name were dead. No one could voice their disagreement of James marrying a mudblood.

 

And now Harry was a Half-blood. One of the first Potters not to be completely pure.

 

Tom turned his back on the muttering portraits. He was the heir of Slytherin and dirty blooded. They would no doubt be watching him during his stay. Somehow, portraits had the power to know each individual’s bloodline that walked through their territory.

 

Studying the petite form of Potter, Tom was brought back to the reason why he refused to stay with Lucius. He wanted to grow the trust between Potter and himself before he thrust Potter out in his world, near his followers. He wanted to breed Potter as an adult with cunning, rather than risk the chance that his followers may emotionally and mentally chip an already bruised boy. Potter needed… some shaping up before they escaped hiding.

 

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” his Gem straightened up from the whispering House Elf. “Sadly, only my old bedroom and the Master suite are up to standards for the living.” The boy didn’t look at all pleased by the news. But he didn’t say anything on the matter.

 

The boy led him up a staircase, along the eyes of Potter ancestors. “Ignore them if they insult you.” The boy indicated toward the portraits. “They always used to insult my mother behind her back. Mine as well.”

 

“I think I am prepared for anything they throw at me,” Tom replied, amused. After all, he had his whole upbringing to get used to verbal insults. A bloody portrait wouldn’t make him crumble. “When did the messy hair begin?” He asked, curious. The portraits downstairs had tamed black hair, nothing like Harry and James’.

 

Harry turned to give him a look over his shoulder. Although the boy turned back quickly, Tom spotted the grin the stretched across Potter’s lips. “Upstairs,” he murmured. “Downstairs is the older ancestors. The messy hair was actually married into our family by a woman. Here.” As soon as they hit the landing, Harry pointed toward a regal looking woman with a hat upon her head. She stood next to a tamed haired man. “Charlus Potter married Elizabeth Cynk. And so, as you can obviously see, Elizabeth passed on her genes to the next generations of Potters.”

 

Tom observed in delight as the rest of the portraits revealed messy haired Potters. “They say my father never had messy hair,” Harry continued. “At least, Sirius always told me James tried to mess it up himself. I, on the other hand, try in vain to tame it. It never works.”

 

The boy was opening up to him, albeit slowly. Even if it was a mundane topic, such as hair and ancestors, Tom knew this was a… start. He was reassured that coming here, in Potter’s territory, would win the boy’s trust more easily than at the Malfoy manor.

 

“I would like to give you my memories, Mr. Potter.” They stopped before a closed door that Tom assumed was the master suite. “Tomorrow, we will start your training. Sharing my memories of the night I stumbled across the Unspeakable laboratory will be our first step.” His eyes raked the boy’s frame. “In the mean time, get a good nights rest.” Potter still looked exhausted.

 

Tom would need to catch up on his reading on the subject of Magi. Merlin had been the last recorded Magus and he had a trusted friend write a few tomes on the subject. Tom needed to know of their limits, their weakness; anything he could learn would be of benefit. Already, Harry admitted it was easier on his magical core to cast magic with his wand. Like Merlin, he had a staff to channel his magic through; Harry would need his wand as a conductor or he would tire easily.

 

“Good night,” Harry gave a sharp nod, disappearing further down the corridor.

 

Tom leaned against the doorframe, watching through hooded eyes which room the boy disappeared in. Just in case…

 

 Once Potter disappeared into the room three doors down, Tom entered the Potter suite.

 

James and Lily had been his students once before. Seeing them, on the walls and on the nightstand was like looking back twenty years. The two were a handsome couple and created an incredibly beautiful child.

 

He set his suitcase down, staring at the small picture of Harry. The boy must have been around seven. Those green eyes… they were so vivid and full of life. Tom imagined they had begun to dull as soon as the boy started to realize he held an abnormally powerful gift. To be able to cast spells without having to know the pronunciation or doing things that he had no prior knowledge of. Magi weren’t known to be very smart in literature. To them, words blurred together, not making any sense.

 

Tom knew that was the reason Harry had trouble in school. The boy couldn’t memorize the spells or what they did; he couldn’t remember the correct steps in a potion. The only way the boy could have survived in school was if he used his power to balance things out. But he hadn’t. The boy had been frightened of his gift.

 

He sighed, giving one last long glance at the small Harry. Tom would have his work cut out for him. Just as the portrait of Salazar predicted, it wasn’t going to be easy, but the end result of such _power_ would be worth it. Tom would have a powerful ally. And with that, he would be able to control _his_ wizarding world.

 

Stooping low, he unlatched his suitcase and unshrunk his most valued possessions. He was sure his manor had been raided already by the Ministry. They wouldn’t have found anything worth accusing him of. Tom smirked, pulling out the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The man’s green eyes flashed at him. “A little warning would be valued next time, Tom.”

 

“There wouldn’t have been anytime.” He eyed the walls of the Potter suite.

 

Would it be an insult to hang the memory of Salazar Slytherin upon the walls of generations and generations of Gryffindors?

 

Yes.

 

He shrugged, doing it anyway.

 

“We are at the Potter manor,” he informed the portrait. Sadly, he stumbled across Salazar’s portrait when he was almost seventeen. By then, he had created two Horcruxes. When he gained possession Salazar, he all but worshipped the man. He grew close to the portrait, seeing Salazar as a mentor and someone who guided him. When Tom confessed he made two Horcruxes and planned to make seven, Salazar had all but ignored him.

 

It wasn’t until he saw the flaws of his ways that the man began to speak to him once again. But the damage was done. He would be forever immortal unless his two Horcruxes were destroyed.

 

Tom could admit that Salazar was a small weakness on his part. The man infuriated him yet assisted him with his ideals. If _any one_ were to know-

 

“When will I see the Magus? What’s his name… Harry?”

 

Tom internally blanched, sneering. “You won’t see him.” The green eyes narrowed on him. “You _won’t_.” Tom snapped, irritated. The portrait… _why_ didn’t he just burn the damned thing when he had a chance?

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry walked down the stairs after a horrible night sleep. All he had done was stare at the ceiling, remembering the memories that wouldn’t leave him alone. He had fond memories of this house and the occupants within it. Merlin, he missed his parents and Sirius.

 

As he walked into the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks, staring at Riddle. The man was at home, eating the breakfast Tippy had made. Riddle, as usual, had his arrogant poise and sickening _charm_ that made all the female students at Hogwarts drool over.

 

Little did they know he was a snarky bastard.

 

Chewing his pancake, Riddle stared right back at Harry. “You look… decent.” His dark eyes went up to Harry’s hair. “I see the Potter hair is at its worse in the morning.”

 

“Shove it, Riddle,” Harry growled, sitting down none too gracefully on the chair. Riddle gave him a disgusted look as he dug into his eggs.

 

“I have the memories here,” Riddle thrust a large bowl-like basin toward him. “It’s a Pensive, it holds memories. Whenever your face is free of egg residue, you may touch your head to the silver memory.”  Harry’s fork stopped near his open mouth as he realized what Riddle had done. Despite his dislike for the man, he understood what Riddle sacrificed to allow Harry into his memories.

 

Wiping his face with a napkin, Harry leaned toward the basin. The silvery liquid showed ghostly images before they dissolved away again. Throwing one last look at Riddle, Harry plunged his head inside. His body felt as if it were falling into a black abyss before he landed heavily on solid ground. It hadn’t hurt; it was just the sudden impact that surprised him.

 

As he got up on his hands and knees, he stared around his surroundings. It was the Unspeakable level where he had been a yesterday. His pulse raced as he heard footsteps approach from behind him. Whirling around, his heart in his throat, he took a breath of relieved air as he saw Riddle.

 

He was a fool. Of course no one would _see_ him. This was a memory.

 

Harry watched as Riddle sauntered down the Unspeakable corridor as if he were the most important man in the wizarding world. His face, which was just as young and unblemished as it was presently, was set back into a mask of indifference. Riddle’s thin and tall frame was draped in Ministry robes and his tapered fingers clutched a black folder. 

 

Ah, yes, Harry remembered Riddle telling him he had worked at the Ministry before teaching. Riddle had been the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And according to Riddle, tonight was the night he discovered the Unspeakable’s lab.

 

The corridors were dim and Harry remembered from Riddle’s story that it had been at night, after most workers had gone home.

 

Turning his eyes back on Riddle, Harry slowly jogged after the man to keep up. Once they approached the fifth door, the man opened it without knocking. Inside, there was no Unspeakable with a white cloak, not like what Harry had stumbled across. “Hello?” Riddle called out, his voice bored.

 

The man’s dark eyes slithered across the room, looking for any signs of humanity. When Riddle saw no one around, he set the black folder on the Unspeakable desk and approached the back door. Harry followed, his face almost pressed into the man’s robes. Yesterday, there hadn’t been anything inside the room, but now, he knew he would be seeing something disturbing. For a moment, he wondered if he really wanted to see, to finally be shown proof.

 

Yes, he did.

 

Riddle opened the door, revealing a room with a horrible stench and suffering moans. Harry felt bile rise in his throat. He didn’t get to see the whole room, but only a small section was good enough. There were rooms upon rooms inside the lab. And there were also stainless steel tables next to counters of medical equipment and chemicals… and needles and vials… knives and bloodied clothes.

 

But the worse thing about the room was seeing the cages. There were only two in his line of vision. The first cage held a human. His ribs were showing and his collarbone was popping out of his shoulders. His body was so thin, completely ruined. He had scars across his body, appearing like medical abrasions and stitches. The man within the cage looked up when the door opened. Instead of crying for help, the man…or woman looked back down, defeated.

 

Harry remembered Riddle telling him the Unspeakables experimented on wizards who practiced Dark Arts.

 

And Dark creatures…

 

Which happened to be the second cage. Harry barely got to recognize it as a werewolf before Riddle abruptly closed the door.

 

Harry stood there, shell shocked as he watched Riddle’s usually handsomely composed face- crumble. The man placed a hand over his mouth, holding in the bile Harry knew would threaten to come up. He knew because the vomit was sitting in his own throat, a solid burn and toxic taste in his mouth.

 

His body was trembling when he thought of the rooms inside the laboratory and how many wizards and Dark creatures were inside. He shook more violently when he wondered just what the Unspeakables experimented with and how much hell those men and creatures suffered through.

 

Footsteps sounded outside the door and Harry numbly watched Riddle compose himself, looking as if he hadn’t seen something so devastating.

 

As soon as the door opened, Riddle touched the black file folder on the Unspeakable’s desk. The Unspeakable, dressed in white robes, froze when he saw Riddle inside his office. “Who are you?” The man asked, guardedly.

 

“Excuse me?” Riddle whispered, his eyes narrowing. “I’m Tom Riddle, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” His voice dripped with arrogance and disgust. “You should know that, yes?”

 

The Unspeakable seemed to relax when he believed Riddle hadn’t seen what was on the other side of the door. But Riddle was just a decent actor. “Of course, I apologize Mr. Riddle. What did you come by for?”

 

Riddle scoffed, sneering. “You’ll just have to do what you do best, won’t you? Sit at your desk and find out.” He motioned toward the folder of papers. “Good day.” He spoke crisply, brushing conceitedly past the Unspeakable.

 

And Harry was tugged from the memory.

 

He found himself bowed in front of the Pensive, staring blankly at the silver memories. He was more than aware of Riddle sitting across from him.

 

“You said the Unspeakables experiment on them,” Harry whispered softly, feeling as if his whole life had altered. He felt as if _he_ had altered. “On only Dark creatures and wizards.”

 

“Wizards who have cast excessive amounts of Dark magic, yes. Doubtless, the magic they cast never did anyone much harm; they were just hunted down by the Unspeakables for using the Dark Arts. And the Ministry gives them the go ahead.” Harry swallowed heavily, closing his eyes against the memory. “You see, Mr. Potter, we live in a world where wizards automatically deem the Dark Arts as dangerous and unethical. They, the Ministry and other wizards, will not tolerate Dark magic to be a threat to their _Light_ magic. To them, the two magics can’t coexist together. So, the Unspeakables abduct Dark wizards slowly and timely so the rest of the world isn’t suspicious of the kidnappings.”

 

Harry clenched his jaw.

 

“And Dark creatures,” Harry pointed out, remembering Remus Lupin. “You said… you said my parents went down to the labs because they believed Remus Lupin had been taken by the Unspeakables. That’s why they were killed; they stumbled across what you did.”

 

“And they were murdered.”

 

Harry opened his eyes, staring at Riddle. He felt something harden within him. “I will do, Riddle, whatever it takes to help bring down the Ministry’s corruption.”

 

Riddle leaned back in his chair, his eyes alight. A small smirk curled his lips as he assessed Harry.

 

And Harry found himself returning the smirk.

 

“But there are a few conditions…”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 

“But there are a few conditions…”

 

Despite the horrible revelation Harry learned, he took a small bit of pleasure watching Riddle’s eyes widen just a fraction at his declaration. But the man’s surprise was gone in a matter of seconds. Instead, the smirk on Riddle’s face grew. “A few conditions? Oddly Slytherin of you, Mr. Potter.” 

 

Well. He wouldn’t indulge Riddle with the fact he was almost sorted in Slytherin. Instead, he glanced once more in the silvery memory. “A few, yes,” Harry pursed his lips. “For one thing, I want to speak to Dumbledore.”

 

Riddle’s nostrils flared, but other than that small reaction, the man remained emotionless. Harry had to remember this man before him was no longer the same professor he knew at Hogwarts. Professor Riddle was tamed at Hogwarts, under the guise of a charming professor. But now… now Riddle was something more lethal, more dangerous. And definitely more Slytherin. Because Harry had been around Gryffindor’s who were rather blunt with things, he had to work harder to see beneath the surface of a Slytherin. Slytherins tended to be cunning… manipulative and Harry would struggle with Riddle he wouldn’t deny it.

 

“You want a meeting with Dumbledore?” Riddle raised an eyebrow. “I can’t really stop you, can I? If that is what you wish, then so be it. All I ask is that I am by your side during that meeting.”

 

Harry thought that request over in his head and decided it wouldn’t hurt. He gave a shrug. “Fine,” he said.

 

He wanted to speak with Dumbledore, his perceived mentor. When he was at Hogwarts, he had thought that Dumbledore and he were close, almost…like a grandfather and grandson. The Headmaster had even visited Harry in the summer when he lived with James and Lily. It was a hard blow for Harry to hear that Dumbledore knew of such treatments by the Ministry. In actuality, it was impossible for him to believe it until he confronted the man about it.

 

And until he talked with Dumbledore, he still held on to that… very small sliver of hope.

 

“What else?” Riddle spoke up, sneering lightly.

 

Blinking, Harry sat up, clasping his hands together on the table. “It doesn’t matter when… but I’d like to see the laboratories for myself. Your memory, it gave me jurisdiction that the Ministry is up to something. And the actions from yesterday’s Unspeakables also proved to me that something wasn’t right. But still, I’d like to see for myself.”

 

“That is understandable, as is your request to see Dumbledore.” Riddle pressed his palms to the table. Harry was surprised the man would admit talking to Dumbledore was a good move. It just proved to Harry that Riddle may, actually, be telling the honest truth. “But as I have said before,” Riddle continued. “My spy within the Unspeakables has yet to contact me about the change in location. I will be contacting him myself at a later date.”

 

Harry sat back in his chair, staring unseeingly at the Potter House Elf. The elf was making another batch of pancakes, despite the fact that Riddle had already eaten and Harry had completely lost his appetite.

 

“I never want to be required to call you ‘My Lord’,” Harry started again. Riddle smiled a lipless smile, keeping his remarks to himself. “And I want to know more about your… _followers_. Like what your goals are for the wizarding world _besides_ taking down the Unspeakable labs.”

 

Riddle’s face was completely emotionless. Harry shifted in his seat at the intense stare, wondering what the hell was happening inside that man’s head.

 

“What makes you think I’m not just forming followers to take down the Unspeakables?” Riddle questioned. “What makes you think I have more up my sleeve? All I want is justice.” That lipless smile crossed Riddle’s face, making him appear completely sinister.

 

Harry refused to pale at the man’s expression or the dark tone.

 

“Because,” Harry breathed, his eyes dilated. “You’re the Slytherin Heir, I expect you have other things up your sleeve.”

 

Riddle seemed very intrigued with what Harry had to say. “Is that so?” he purred. “So you’re saying, just because I cast Dark magic that I need to be underhanded and have a… malicious plan that you don’t know about?”

 

“N-no,” Harry stuttered. “That’s not what I mean.”

 

“Really now? Because it sounded to me like you are discriminative against Dark wizards. You are just like the Ministry, Dumbledore, and the population of Light wizards. You expect the worst of us just because we prefer casting Dark magic.” Riddle’s eyes took on a red sheen to them. “Wizards and witches are expected not to use Dark magic. And they are forced to do it in secrecy. Do you know what that does to them, Mr. Potter?”

 

Harry shook his head, his eyes too focused on Riddle’s.

 

“The more they practice in secrecy, the more they become the wizards the Light fears. They become corrupted, almost lost to the Dark because it soothes them and comforts their fears of being caught.” Riddle gave a chuckle. “But you’re right, Mr. Potter, I do have an alternative motive.”

 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Then why did you give me that bloody speech?”

 

“Simply because you jumped to conclusions like the Ministry does. You think that just because I cast Dark magic that I am somehow evil.” When the man said the word ‘evil’, his smile widened into a malicious grin and his eyes lightened. “Sadly, I shouldn’t be compared with other Dark wizards because I do kill. I like to torture. I enjoy blackmailing and manipulating. Just because I enjoy doing all those things, doesn’t mean other Dark wizards have to.”

 

Harry stood up, frowning. “What…” he asked dumbly, all but slurring the word.

 

Riddle stood up as well, his eyes turning red. “I am a Dark Lord, Potter.”

 

“And that’s supposed to comfort me?” Harry whispered weakly.

 

Riddle chuckled. “No, not in the least.” Harry stood poised, ready to run if the man attacked, but then realized Riddle wasn’t making any sudden moves. “You asked me of my true motives and my followers. I’m telling you the truth. I am the Dark Lord Voldemort, the Lord of the Death Eaters.”

 

Harry’s lips pursed as he tried to remember where he’d heard that before. “You’re the group… the ones that attacked a wizarding village, right?”

 

“A wizarding village that housed many Ministry workers, yes. I’m impressed. I hadn’t thought you’d pick up anything to read besides the Witch Weekly to see your article.” Ignoring Harry’s splutter, Riddle continued. “I have recruited many powerful wizards and witches. They have expressed their distaste of the Ministry and wish to cast Dark magic without having to watch out for Unspeakables.”

 

Harry slowly sat down, shocked that he was taking this so well. His Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had just revealed to him that he was a Dark Lord. Ironically, it didn’t come as much of a shock to him as he thought it would.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Tom surveyed his Gem sitting down across from him with a bit of disappointment. He had wanted to _scare_ the boy. Instead, the Gryffindor was sitting there, blinking up at him with a slight pallor to his skin. It was both disappointing and unanticipated. He had thought the boy would turn red in the face and start spitting out insults, threats… instead… just a bit of shock shone through in those dark eyes.

 

He would never admit it, but Tom was slightly pleased. The boy was turning out to be a surprise.

 

Looking down his nose at the Gryffindor, Tom realized that the child was maturing. Gone was that arrogant and conceited Potter brat, and in replace, a young man sat, realizing that the world didn’t revolve around Quidditch and school. He was learning the dangers of the world, the corruption and truths. He was no longer living in his prized bubble his parents and Dumbledore placed him in.

 

Harry Potter was starting to _understand._

 

Tom sat down, staring levelly back at the boy. He couldn’t help but to feel a bit smug at the way Potter turned out. He could almost see a Slytherin side beneath the surface of the Gryffindor adolescent. And Tom could work with that. He could bring out that Slytherin and make the boy anchored more firmly on his side.

 

“Did Dumbledore know? Did he have any suspicions about you?” Was the first question to slide past the boy’s lips. It was a smart question, a logical question. And again, his Gem was surprising him with each passing moment.

 

“He had his suspicions,” Tom acknowledged with a nod. “I didn’t come out to the world until this summer, after I resigned from Hogwarts. During the mean time, I scouted at the school for any students who were talented. Granted, Dumbledore kept a very sharp eye on me, resulting in fewer allies than I anticipated.” Potter snorted. “Could you share what is so amusing?” Tom questioned, raising his eyebrows.

 

“I could see right through you and your little charm,” Potter all but sneered.

 

“No,” Tom started. “You were blinded by your godfather and parents’ opinion of me. _That_ is why you hate me, why you were suspicious.” Tom watched as Potter seemed to consider this.

 

“You’re right,” the boy gave a tight nod, as if he didn’t want to admit it. “Sirius and my father had a lot to do with my attitude toward you. Plus you were the only professor who actually made me focus in class and never allowed me to slack off.” Potter seemed to shudder at the memory of all the detentions Tom used to assign him for not paying attention in class. “But still…” the boy began hesitantly. “I think… I could feel your darkness… if that makes any sense at all.”

 

“It does,” Tom confirmed. “You sensed my aura. Because you were raised around Light wizards, you were used to their auras. They comforted you. When you came in contact with me, I was, perhaps, your first Dark wizard to come across. You weren’t comfortable with me, you were, as you stated, suspicious.”

 

The boy leaned his chin on his open palm, staring at Tom. “Why weren’t you this interesting in class? I think maybe I would have stayed awake during our lessons.” Tom completely ignored the jab and slowly stood, making his way over to the sitting boy.

 

“You don’t seem bothered all that much by the fact I’m a Dark Lord.” Placing one hand on the back of Harry’s chair, he leaned in closer.

 

His eyes watched Potter’s pronounced Adams apple bob as he swallowed. “After witnessing your memories, all I want is the Ministry to be destroyed. Your logic… about both Dark and Light magic cohabitating freely together sounds reasonable. I understand where you’re coming from. There should be no prejudice based on what magic you cast, Dark or Light, only the consequences of _what_ you cast.”

 

Tom closed his eyes, bathing in those words. He thought he would have had to struggle through teaching Harry about equality. But hearing it so early made Tom very aware that this was not the boy from Hogwarts any longer. Perhaps it was due to his godfather’s death, or not being surrounded by his peers and friends, or more logically, the knowledge of his corrupt government… whatever it was, Tom was grateful.

 

“Although I’m not too sure about you… killing and torturing… I know you won’t hurt me because you need me.” Tom opened his eyes, locking gazes with the lithe young man. “But I somehow think I’m going against my parents’ honor by joining you.”

 

Tom reached out confidently and curled his fingers around the boy’s jaw. “Do you really believe that, Harry?” He whispered softly.

 

“They died by the hands of your enemy, of _our_ enemy.” The boy pondered silently, trying to grasp what he really thought of the subject. Riddle was sure that in Potter’s past, no adult would have allowed the boy to think for himself. It was a pity, really, but something he would allow Harry to do. “They would have been in favor of your cause, but against your motives. I suppose it doesn’t really matter what they think, does it? As long as I know I’m on the right side and as long as I get my revenge on those who killed them.”

 

Tom all but hissed in pleasure, his fingertips brushing against the smooth skin of his Gem. His Gem… _his_. Things were going along smoothly. He was sure he would have Harry in his closed fist before long.

 

Red stained the boy’s cheeks as he tore his gaze from Tom’s. “Oh,” Potter exclaimed excitingly, changing the subject. “Chocolate chip pancakes!”

 

Tom’s eyes rolled upward and he wondered why he even _bothered_.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

They were standing near the shore of the calm lake. Harry breathed deeply, instructed to do so by Riddle. “You have a temper,” Riddle all but barked. Harry opened his eye, staring at the man from the corner of his peripheral vision. “Keep your eyes _closed_ ,” he hissed.

 

Harry shut his eyes, feeling his mouth twitch. “You know, if you keep _talking_ I won’t be able to relax. And you’re hovering. It’s… irritating.”

 

“Is it really?” Riddle whispered. Harry nodded; glad the man lowered his voice. “Good.” Riddle spoke loudly, stepping closer. “You need to calm yourself, no matter the situation.” The man was like an overbearing Cho Chang. Only, his voice made up for her high pitched giggles. “Don’t focus on the outside world,” something touched his neck.

 

Harry sucked in a breath, inching away from the touch. His eyes opened to see Riddle leaning downward toward him, his nose inches away from his neck. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

 

Crimson eyes narrowed. “Finally getting a chance to feel you up, Potter.” The man looked disgusted as his tone all but dripped sarcasm. “I’m attempting to help you _focus_ and calm yourself. You are, obviously, failing.” Strong hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him back into a straight position. “Your temper, naturally, leads to your Magus taking over your senses. I’m trying to subside your temper by helping you focus and calm. Once you feel that familiar fury rise, I want you to _swallow_ it and relax.”

 

“It makes sense now,” Harry quipped. “If you would have told me that beforehand, I might have understood why you were feeling me up.”

 

“It takes the fun out of it, Mr. Potter,” Riddle retorted right back.

 

Harry resisted a smirk. The man, although still completely arrogant, had a decent sense of humor. Of course, Harry would never admit that. He’d rather kiss Snape’s greasy arse before he admitted Riddle’s presence wasn’t so bad.  And… Harry realized he was around a Dark wizard, more specifically, a Dark Lord. The realization that they were human hit him hard. All his life, Sirius and James had always quipped about how nasty Dark wizards were.

 

Riddle wasn’t all that bad. And the man was smart, completely cunning and observant.

 

“You’re completely not grasping the point,” Riddle began, shaking him by the shoulders. “Close your eyes and wipe that damned smirk off your face.” And here Harry thought he had resisted his smile…

 

He closed his eyes, the hands on his shoulders staying stubbornly still. He was more than aware of the tall form of the man behind him. The man’s presence was very overwhelming, almost making him feel dizzy and giddy. Riddle’s breath ghosted across his neck and Harry’s jaw clenched. “Meditating like this will assist you in controlling your temper. What are a few things that you find yourself getting easily angry over, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Malfoy,” Harry grimaced at the blond.

 

The fingers massaged his shoulders, taking him out of his daydream of the bratty blonde. “You’re tense,” Riddle murmured. “You’re temper has already risen and Draco Malfoy isn’t even here. You’re being incredibly immature.” Harry grumbled under his breath. “ _Relax_ ,” Riddle hissed, irritated. “Remember my memory you witnessed? How I was able to throw off the Unspeakable’s suspicion that I witnessed the laboratory? Tell me, Harry, how did I do that?”

 

 _Being a cold heartless bastard._ But Harry remembered seeing Riddle’s horrified expression when he witnessed the inside room. It had been odd, watching the normally composed face of Riddle crumble.

 

“You acted indifferent,” Harry answered. “And arrogant, like always.”

 

“Exactly,” Riddle encouraged, his fingers still massaging Harry’s shoulders. Harry had to acknowledge, Riddle was loosening a few tension knots in his neck and shoulders. “That, Mr. Potter, is called a mask. I want you to construct one around those you don’t trust or like.”

 

Harry hummed. “Like you?”

 

The man chuckled lowly. “Constructing a mask around me would be useless; I am an expert at seeing beneath any guise, especially yours, Mr. Potter.” Harry opened his eyes, frowning. The man did have a talent for seeing underneath masks. At Hogwarts, the professor was the only one who seemed to see the potential in Harry. All the other professors accepted Harry’s lack of talent and instead tried to encourage him. Riddle on the other hand _enforced_ his attention.

 

“You want to make it enjoyable. When you wear a mask, it’s amusing to watch others try and attempt to understand what you’re feeling. Take Mr. Malfoy for example. You know you’re more powerful than he is… so what are you threatened by that makes you bicker with him? What you need to do is act indifferent around him, more _adult_. Not only will it make you appear more superior, but it’ll make Mr. Malfoy look like a fool.”

 

Harry grinned, imagining the taken aback look Malfoy would probably sport if he ignored him entirely. “You are no longer at Hogwarts; you don’t have to compete for House supremacy.” Riddle dropped his hands from his shoulders and ran his palms down Harry’s arms before letting go entirely. Harry repressed a shudder at the touch, trying to control his expression.

 

“So… in short you want me to be more of a Slytherin?” Harry asked softly, staring into the distant and calm lake.

 

“Just because you wear a mask doesn’t mean you have to be Slytherin. It just means you’re a smart wizard who takes care of your emotions and expressions. A wizard who reveals expressions easily are thus easier to take down. This will also help you with your temper.” Riddle brushed passed him and onto the pier. “I want you to meditate twice a day for an hour. I will be surprised if your temper doesn’t decrease in a matter of days.”

 

Through squinted eyes, Harry watched as Riddle sat at the end of the dock, brining out a large tome. “What are you going to do? Read?” Harry asked.

 

Riddle gave a lipless smile, his eyes averted on his book. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Potter. But I _will_ be able to tell if you aren’t clearing your mind. I think an hour of meditation will do. Now.”

 

Trying to hold his grimace in, Harry sat on the shore, closing his eyes. He supposed Riddle _would_ understand what to do in order to calm his anger. After all, the man hardly ever showed any emotion besides amusement and overconfidence. And Harry knew his temper was what was causing him to slip in his magic. By losing control, his Magus was taking over, making him hate his _gift._ Perhaps… with time… he could see his magic as more as a gift than a curse.

 

“You are not clearing your mind, Harry.” Riddle murmured, no doubt keeping his eyes on the pages before him.

 

Sighing, Harry concentrated on… mediating.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

They were sitting on the dock again, their feet submerged into the lake. Harry had been surprised when Riddle had actually relaxed enough to roll up his sleeves and take off his shoes and socks. But even when the man was lounging on the deck with his feet submerged, he was able to pull off a regal posture. Harry tried to mimic the same amount of grace and poise, but he ended up slumping forward, his whole body threatening to fall into the lake.

 

This past week, Harry had spent his time… relaxing. He ate, read, mediated… and meditated…

 

When he asked Riddle about their lack of _training_ the man had looked at him and claimed they were training. It wasn’t until two days ago that Harry realized that meditating had helped significantly. He no longer had an irritating rage about him, he no longer felt antsy or anxious. In fact, he felt cool and collected. It was almost as if he could _breathe_ again.

 

For as long as he could remember, he hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time. It was perhaps the summer before Hogwarts, before his parents died, that Harry had been this content. His whole body was lax and loose and he found himself able to sleep at night without waking up in cold sweat.

 

During the times he wasn’t meditating, Harry was able to think quietly to himself. He was able to sit in the house where his parents brought him in the summers without experiencing any painful memories, only memories he would smile upon or remember fondly. It was during those times when Harry grasped he hadn’t been over his parents’ death, or Sirius’. He had just been locking away his pain, unable to deal with it. But this past week had proved time for healing.

 

It had also provided a time to really think on what he agreed on with Riddle. He found himself unable to argue with what he was doing. He wanted revenge and he wanted justice. What the Ministry was doing was brainwashing and unethical. They were inflicting their own beliefs on the wizarding world, that Dark wizards and Dark magic, were considered evil. Harry had read his first Dark Arts book this week and he realized that most spells and hexes were more of an effective and difficult way to defend yourself.

 

It was no wonder the Light wizards always claimed the Dark was ‘evil’. It was simply because the Dark put more effort into their defensive spells. Most of their hexes and charms were dangerous; yes, but the Light hexes weren’t all that ‘Light’ either. Dark Arts was also more medieval and older magic than Light. It was almost as if the Light side was erasing history by banning Dark Arts.

 

And what they were doing with the Dark wizards and creatures… it was unlawful and Harry felt as if he had decided on the right side now more than ever.

 

And Riddle wasn’t overbearing as he allowed Harry his time alone, which surprised Harry. He would have thought the man would always be looming, barking out orders and whispering manipulations in his ear. But surprisingly, Riddle’s company was relaxing enough. The man seemed to be reading a lot or writing. Harry never questioned what he was doing, content with their privacy despite living in the same house.

 

The idea that this man next to him was a Dark Lord had irked him for a few days. He was joining someone who admitted to killing and torturing while _enjoying_ it. But the more Harry stared and studied the man, the more he began to understand that the Dark side needed someone like Riddle. Someone who wasn’t all that afraid of killing and standing up for what he believed.

 

“Do you really think you can do it?” Harry asked, his feet swimming through the cool waves. “The Ministry… it’s a very large organization and the Unspeakables are incredibly powerful. Plus you have the majority of the Light wizards who are blinded by the Ministry that won’t hesitate to defend themselves.”

 

“What is your question?” Riddle asked, irritated.

 

Harry hid his grin. “Do you really think you can succeed on turning the Ministry over?”

 

Riddle didn’t look angry at the doubtful question. “We are outnumbered, yes. But I believe I have an army of individuals who can hold their own. They are very powerful men and women, I only recruit the best. In addition, the Light wizards who are not part of the Ministry will become confused with the new threat. There will be chaos when the word gets out the Ministry is doing underground experiments on humans and creatures alike. Plus, I have a Magus on my side.”

 

Harry snorted darkly. Riddle raised his eyebrows. “Why, exactly, do you hate yourself so much, Harry?”

 

Glancing at the man, Harry had to look away from the penetrating crimson gaze. Ever since the man had revealed to him that he was a Dark Lord, Riddle never covered his red eyes. They weren’t unnerving, they just _saw_ too much.

 

“I never said I hated myself, just my power.” Digging his fingers into the ledge of the dock, he leaned forward. “I just wanted to be a normal wizard who struggled with the levitating charms and who had trouble with girls… I didn’t want to worry about a power that took control of me that made me so different from everyone else.”

 

He turned to look at a pensive Riddle, seeing that the man was turning over his words. Another thing about the man was that he was understanding. He always listened to Harry, hearing him out until he finished his story. No other adult had done that to him. Harry supposed he was just as sucked in by the Riddle charm as the rest of them. Eh, he was pathetic.

 

“But you succeeded in that department,” Riddle started. “You had a relatively normal childhood, as you would say; you had female trouble and what not. Quidditch helped you escape your pressure over your uncontrollable power. The only thing abnormal about your childhood was your parents being murdered and the Ministry keeping a close eye on you.” Riddle leaned closer, causing Harry to rip his gaze from the water and assess the man.

 

“But you’re an adult now with expectations. You carry a large burden knowing what the Ministry is doing behind closed curtains. And you have the choice to do the right thing and stop it. As far as your power goes, I’m currently working with you to control it. You should be _very_ blessed you carry such magic. To make a difference.”

 

“You’re a manipulative man,” Harry grinned lightheartedly. “Only you would make killing and an uprising against the government sound so logical.” But Riddle made sense. Harry _was_ an adult now. And he had the power to make a difference in the wizarding world.

 

Riddle chuckled lowly, his eyes becoming hooded as he stared at Harry. The man reached out and touched Harry’s lower back. “Sit up straight, Mr. Potter.”

 

Rolling his eyes upwards, Harry smirked. The man had the habit of telling him to stand up straight, to sit straight; to _delicately_ pat his mouth with his napkin… the man was a bloody ponce. Looking into the water, Harry had an idea.  “And what about you, sir? You look a little too _close_ to the end of the dock.”

 

Riddle frowned, looking confused. With his magic, Harry wandlessly pushed Riddle cleanly off the dock and into the water. The man made a gasping sound, sounding shocked as he submerged into the depths of the lake.

 

Harry laughed, loving the feeling of getting one up on the man. Finally. That arrogant wizard was getting a little soggy.

 

His laugh dimmed when he didn’t see Riddle break the water. What if the man couldn’t swim? Surely a Dark Lord knew how to kick his legs and arms in the water… right? Standing up on the dock, Harry peered down into the water depths, his pulse rising.

 

“Bloody hell,” he dived into the lake, breaking through the cool waves. Hopefully the man wouldn’t need mouth to mouth rescuing; Harry had no idea how to do that.

 

Swimming toward the bottom, Harry looked around, unable to spot the wizard anywhere. Frantic for air, he broke through the water, inhaling air greedily. With his hair in his eyes, he swung around to stare at the dock, unable to believe what he was seeing.

 

Riddle was crouched on the dock, his fingers caressing his jaw in a contemplative matter. And the kicker? He was completely dry. That bloody bastard. He looked as arrogant as ever as he peered smugly down at a drenched Harry.

 

“When you’re done horsing around, Mr. Potter, meet me back at the house. We have a few _field trips_ planned for the day.” With a growing smirk, Riddle turned his heel and all but swaggered back to the house.

 

Harry was left spluttering in the water.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

 

Riddle sneered as he plucked at Harry’s tatty cloak. “Is this really all you have?”

 

Harry glowered. “If I had known we were going to the Malfoy manor, I would have put on my bloody gold and bronzed boxers and robes.” Riddle’s crimson eyes were not impressed at Harry’s sarcasm. “What?” He asked innocently.

 

“Remember your temper.”

 

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes upwards. “That was _sarcasm,_ not a temper.” Seeing the man’s look, Harry caved in. “Yes sir, I will remember my temper.”

 

Riddle gave a superior nod, bringing them up to Lucius Malfoy’s door. Before Riddle even had to knock on the overwhelming door, it opened and a man with a rugged and sunken face hurried out. His dark hair was greasy, almost rivaling Snape’s. “Going somewhere, Rookwood?” Riddle sneered softly.

 

Behind Rookwood, Lucius jogged toward the door, his lips coming into a thin line as he spotted Riddle. “My Lord, he was about to run. I had just finished informing him you were unaware of the Unspeakable lab change. Mystery as _why_ he would run.”

 

Harry watched with a sharp eye as Rookwood shuddered in the face of Riddle and hunched his back in submission. “My Lord,” the man gave a dark chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” the wizard gave a small bow at the waist.

 

Riddle gave a dark hum, reaching out toward Harry and touching his shoulder. “Mr. Potter, this is Augustus Rookwood, my spy within the Unspeakables I was telling you about.” The Unspeakable’s dark eyes landed on him, his gaze widening a fraction.

 

Harry didn’t get much time to study the man before him, for Riddle ushered him inside the Malfoy manor. The door shut behind them, closing off the outside world and Rookwood’s escape. Everyone’s posture seemed to alter when the door was closed to the outside. Rookwood became more hunched, more respected, and Lucius also bowed his head at Riddle. Riddle’s hand was still on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him passed the two Dark wizards and further into the manor.

 

Rookwood and Malfoy followed without question, their gazes on the ground and their mouths silenced. It was amusing, really, to see such a powerful and influential wizard as Lucius Malfoy being reverted to a silent servant.

 

They entered a small parlor and Riddle suddenly turned on Rookwood, looming over him. His hand dropped from Harry’s shoulder and his attention was focused mainly on the man who dropped down to the ground on his knees. “Master, they are suspicious of me.”

 

“Where do your loyalties lie, Augustus?” Riddle whispered softly, his voice changing into a tone Harry had never heard him use.

 

“My Lord,” Rookwood continued on pathetically, his body now wholly on the floor. “You, My Lord, I will always serve you. The Unspeakables… they have advanced so far ahead. And they know of Potter’s powers… They believe he carries powers far beyond any normal wizard could possibly obtain. A Magus, they say he’s a Magus.”

 

Lucius’ cold eyes locked eyes with Harry over Rookwood’s fallen form. The Malfoy senior studied him silently, assessing every inch of him as if he’d never seen Harry before. Harry coolly returned the stare, his face constructed in the mask Riddle helped him construct. In return, Malfoy’s eyebrows raised a fraction and a small smirk stretched the man’s lips.

 

“Lucius,” Riddle interrupted their staring contest. “Why don’t you… remove Harry from the room while I deal with Rookwood? Those manners I asked you about, now may be the most decent time to do so.”

 

Harry frowned, not understanding Riddle’s request. “Come with me, Mr. Potter.” Lucius had a pleased grin on his face at the prospect of Rookwood getting ‘dealt’ with. Harry cast a look at Riddle, but the man refused to remove his eyes off Rookwood. They held a gleam in them, a predatory glint that looked entirely malicious.

 

Reluctantly, he walked beside Lucius, and out the room. The blonde haired man led him into a lavish dinning hall with a table that could easily sit thirty people. “Is Riddle going to torture him?” Harry guessed; his lips pursed at the thought of the man screaming behind silencing charms. A more sadistic part of him wanted to know what Riddle would do, but another, stronger part of him, was against Riddle even raising his wand against the Unspeakable spy.

 

“Keeping secrets from our Lord is never the smartest thing to do.” Lucius replied back softly. “Now come sit next to Draco.”

 

Harry paused, just catching sight of the blonde haired boy. Draco was sitting near the head of the table, eating his breakfast. His fork paused near his open mouth as he spotted Harry at the same instant. A sneer curled the boy’s lips, marring the flawless skin.

 

Keeping his chin up, Harry sat down on the chair, keeping his cool demeanor and not revealing his dislike for the boy. It wasn’t until he caught sight of Lucius’ appalled face that he realized he did _something_ wrong. Perhaps his mask wasn’t constructed all that well. “Your posture is, quite frankly, horrendous.” Lucius stated a matter-of-factly.

 

Draco sniggered, a smug look plaster across his face as he gazed across at Harry.

 

“What is this?” Harry whispered dangerously. “Riddle told you to… teach me manners?” This earned another snicker from Draco. Harry tried to control his rising rage but he was appalled that Riddle would actually ask Lucius something like this. “I don’t need to learn anything from _you_.”

 

“It seems that you do, Mr. Potter,” Lucius replied smugly. “Sit up straight, your back stiff.”

 

“You mean as stiff as the stick in your arse?” Harry asked spitefully, sitting up nonetheless. He flashed Draco a look and leaned his elbows on the table besides the _golden_ plate. What a fucking pansy family. Harry took a gander and thought one of these plates could feed the whole Weasley family for a week.

 

Lucius’ long wand holster came out and slapped Harry’s elbows. “Elbows off the table, shoulders back, chin up.” Draco bowed his head across from Harry, his shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter. Harry was sure the boy loved to see him in this position. In this… _humiliating_ position.

 

He felt the rage rise inside himself and he remembered Riddle’s words. _“Swallow that fury.”_ However, Harry could barely calm his hatred toward Riddle at the moment and he could not swallow such hate. It would, no doubt, burn his throat if he swallowed such abhorrence.

 

“Let’s start off with something simple, shall we?” Lucius continued, not at all aware of Harry’s growing anger. “We start with what utensil?”

 

Rather tensely, Harry touched the fork farthest away from the plate. There was silence and Harry looked up at mocking silver before both father and son broke out in chuckles. They were mocking him, taking great effort in bringing him down at his lowest.

 

“You will _never_ be a proper wizard, Potter.” Draco started; his smile a taunting irritation. “It’s a pity your parents died before they could teach you proper manners. Whatever mannerisms you did learn were destroyed by that dog you call godfather.”

 

Harry swallowed as Lucius chuckled. “Now now, Draco. Be polite-,”

 

Taking out his wand, Harry flicked his wrist at Draco. The boy looked amused when nothing happened. But just then, his chair started rising in the air. The blonde boy whimpered, clutching the sides of his chairs, a horrified expression on his face. “I think you’d make a good wall decoration, Draco dear,” Harry smiled. “After all, that’s all you’re useful for.”

 

And he realized, despite his anger, he _was_ under control.

 

He felt very pleased with himself.

 

Placing Draco’s chair against the wall, about ten feet from the ground, he contemplated just briefly before firing all the knives at the table directly at Draco. The boy screamed bloody murder as he watched the tips of the knives head in his direction. But Harry wasn’t malicious enough to allow them to pierce the boy’s body. Instead, he pinned the boy’s sleeves and robes against the wall, flattening him backwards.

 

“If you want that wand shoved up your arse with that stick, Malfoy, I suggest you point it elsewhere,” Harry instructed Lucius Malfoy. He didn’t even have to turn around to know the blonde senior had drawn his wand on Harry.

 

Turning his back, he made his way toward the exit. He had enough of the Malfoys and Riddle trying to breed him into a stiff Pure-blood wizard. “Where are you going?” Lucius demanded; a slight note of fear in his voice. And Harry realized the man was fearful of Riddle’s reaction to Harry’s absence, not Harry’s power.

 

“None of your business, you stiff prude.” Harry reached toward the door, more than aware of Lucius trotting behind him. Before his hand come in contact with the door, there was an indivisible force that started to expand around him. His hair started to rise from the static shocks. Whirling around, he watched as Lucius murmured underneath his breath, his wand drawn.

 

Harry knew what the man was doing. He had seen Sirius and his parents do it before with their wards.

 

Lucius was commanding the wards around his house to stop Harry from leaving.

 

And one thing Harry hated above all else was being trapped.

 

Clenching his teeth, Harry drew his power around him and raised his hands. He felt slow, almost as if the wards were making him move in slow motion, as if they slowed down time. He pushed through the thickness, through the restraint in the air, and clapped his hands. Once his hands made contact with each other, they seemed to create a sonic boom. The air vibrated with ripples before time seemed to speed back up. The power from his clap raised his hair on end and both Lucius and he went flying backward. 

 

He hit the door just as the manor erupted in sounds of glass shattering. The force of his power broke through the Malfoy’s wards and had, no doubt, shattered all the windows.

 

Harry struggled up, shakily moving out Lucius’ broken front door.

 

As he walked away, he couldn’t help a smirk cross his lips.

 

Now _that_ was bloody brilliant.

 

And he was sure his posture even looked brilliant while doing it.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Tom lifted his wand from Rookwood’s shuddering form as he felt a shift in magic. His eyes narrowed as he considered the closed door. He had been working with Harry on his temper for the week. He was more than certain _if_ the boy lost control of his rage that it would fall on Malfoy’s lack of respect toward a Magus. Still, he would expect more of Harry. The boy should not allow callous words to affect his control.

 

After a moment silence, save for Rookwood’s heavy breathing, Tom looked back down at the Unspeakable. “It pains me to punish you, Augustus,” Tom purred seductively, crouching down to run his fingers down the man’s cheek. Rookwood shuddered in both pain in pleasure at Tom’s caress. “But you do understand that many unfortunate events happened because of your lack of intelligence.”

 

“I- I’m s-sorry, My Lord,” The man shuddered, his body twitching with the after affects of the Cruciatus curse. “I…-,”

 

“Hush,” Tom snapped, standing at attention as he heard a blood curling scream. It was not Harry. He allowed his body to relax slightly at that bit of knowledge.

 

Before he could exit the room and see what damage his Gem did now, his hair stood on end when he felt the wards shift and hover. The air grew thicker with magic and Tom found his movements becoming sluggish. Just as he was about to use his magic to slice through Malfoy’s wards, a shudder shook the house, waves upon waves of magic washing through. Tom grunted as he stumbled backwards from the force of it. It was similar to a magical push.

 

He landed on his arse, blinking when the window near Rookwood exploded.

 

Once the air returned to normal, he scrambled up, not even checking to see if Rookwood was alright. His mind was more focused on his Gem’s whereabouts.

 

Avoiding the glass on the ground proved impossible. It was everywhere. His shoes crunched the small shards into a glittery powder, leaving behind a trail of sparkling dust. Ahead, he saw the younger Malfoy pinned against the wall. Knives were embedded in the wall, impossibly close to his body’s body.

 

“Please, My Lord,” the boy began desperately, his face twisting. “Can you get me down from here, please?”

 

Tom didn’t even pause as he brushed passed the boy. “Whatever you did to deserve your current position, Mr. Malfoy, I can only imagine.” He left the blonde brat on the wall and continued toward the entrance way.

 

Ahead of him, Lucius was slumped to the ground unconscious. Tom assessed the broken down door and the absence of Harry. “Lucius,” Tom pressed the toe of his boot to Lucius’ cheek. “Lucius,” he sang precariously.

 

The man’s eyes blinked open. It took the blonde a few seconds to remember what exactly happened and why his Lord would sport such a malevolent smile. When the blonde finally came to terms, his grey eyes widened. “I tried to stop him, My Lord, but he _ripped_ past my wards.” He said, scandalized. “Wards that have been in stone since the early century.” Lucius replied weakly, unable to believe that Harry could have torn them down so easily.

 

“What did you think?” Tom hissed out. “That you cold hold a Magus in? What. Did. You. _Do?”_

 

Lucius struggled to sit, but Tom’s foot made him slump back down to the ground. “It appears as if the boy did not want to be taught manners.”

 

Crimson eyes narrowed. “Will you proceed to lie to me, Lucius? What really happened?”

 

The pale man shuddered on the ground, avoiding eye contact. “My son may have said some things that were inappropriate and Potter did not think highly of those words. He also did not take kindly to being held in by the wards. Like you imagined, My Lord.”

 

Tom pressed his foot deep on Lucius’ neck, watching jadedly as the man’s lips turned white. “I will deal with you later. Just know it took a week to gain a small spot of respect and trust with Mr. Potter. If you threw that away, I _will_ come hunting for you, Lucius.” Pushing his foot off the man’s throat, Tom turned his heel and made his way toward the exit. “Oh, and Lucius? Rookwood needs attention. I hope you take special note on his condition because you will find yourself in worse shape if things do not turn out between Harry and me.”

 

With that, he left the Malfoy manor, its wards completely stripped.

 

He had a small hunch as to where Harry would run to. It’s where the boy always ran to when things didn’t go his way at Hogwarts.

 

Dumbledore.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry breathed in deeply to calm himself. His body shook slightly as he stared at the Gargoyle. Even though it was a few days before school started up again, Harry was more than certain Dumbledore would be there, in his office.

 

His anxiety was hard to pinpoint. Was he anxious to see his old mentor again? The man he thought of as a grandfather? Or was he anxious over what Dumbledore would say? Would he confirm Riddle’s story or would he dismiss it? Perhaps… Dumbledore could put things back to where they were. Harry could continue going to school here and Dumbledore could stop the Ministry from chasing him.

 

Even if Harry saw Riddle’s memory, he was still having trouble putting his blind trust in the man. He wanted proof and he wanted sureness. He was still angry with Riddle for what the man had done at the Malfoy manor. Harry wondered what kind of things Riddle said about him behind his back. Getting mannerism training from Lucius Malfoy? It was insulting. He had felt like a little kid.

 

And here he thought their week together had been civilized. It seemed the man converted into a cold and unfeeling Dark Lord whenever they left the Potter house. Harry would _not_ be Riddle’s plaything he could discard whenever the man felt like it.

 

That’s why he wanted to know what Dumbledore knew of the Ministry. Perhaps the man could train Harry instead of Riddle.

 

With his wand, he pushed aside the Gargoyle, watching as the spiraling staircase started twisting upwards. With his head hung low, he stepped on the first step, allowing the stairs to bring him up to Dumbledore’s door. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door he had so many times before. Only, this time, he was unsure of the outcome.

 

“Come in,” the voice called out happily. Licking his lips nervously, Harry entered the office. As he predicted, Dumbledore sat behind his desk, waiting patiently for Harry to enter. “Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore stood up, his beard still partly hidden underneath the desk.

 

“Professor,” Harry greeted hesitantly. He hadn’t seen any _Daily Prophets_ , but he was more than sure his issue for arrest had been splattered across the papers. Along with being kicked off the Quidditch team, Harry was more than certain people were speculating. But would Dumbledore be the same?

 

“I had hoped you would return,” Dumbledore said sadly. He motioned toward the seat in front of him in all earnestly. “I’ve heard some very… disturbing rumors from the Ministry.”

 

Harry walked toward the chair but didn’t sit. Dumbledore hesitated a moment before taking his chair. The man wasn’t looking to intimidate him, and for that, Harry was thankful. “I… I too, was told some very disturbing rumors, sir.” He sat down; making certain Dumbledore wouldn’t stand again. “Rumors that explained why my parents were murdered, why Sirius was murdered…” he started off cautiously.

 

“Harry, your parents were murdered by an estranged wizard, Peter Pettigrew. And Sirius was wounded critically in one of his Auror missions and died in the hospital the next day.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes darkened into a remorse sort of emotion. “I’m sure Mr. Riddle gained hold of you after your unfortunate leave of the Falmouth Falcons.” Harry frowned, feeling something stir in his stomach. “Harry,” Dumbledore leaned forward, clasping his hands on his desk. “You need to understand that Tom Riddle isn’t right in the head.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

The old man pursed his lips. “Tom has had a few dark events happen in his past. He blames the Ministry for many of his past mistakes. After he was fired from the Ministry, he started spinning rumors about the Unspeakables to a very selected group. He’s gathering up an army to fight against a Ministry who has done nothing wrong but serve their people to the best of their ability. Granted, the Ministry has committed a few errors, but not everyone or everything is perfect.”

 

“Tom Riddle resigned, he wasn’t fired.” Harry started. “He told me he quit after he found out what the Ministry was doing, or more specifically, what the Unspeakables were doing.”  Harry gave a deep sigh, wondering who was telling the truth. He had known Dumbledore longer than Riddle, yet… “Please, Headmaster, tell me the truth. Is the Unspeakables conducting experiments on the Dark creatures and wizards?”

 

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “They are doing experiments, yes.” Harry sat up straighter, his jaw locked. “But they are conducting experiments on criminals, not innocent men and women. Criminals that have committed murder, rape, who have abused physically and mentally.”

 

“And that’s right?” Harry’s voice cracked. “Just because they committed a crime doesn’t mean _we_ should commit a crime on them.”

 

“They have chosen their fate,” Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping Harry’s argument. “They were given the choice of serving their sentence in Azkaban or participating in controlled experiments.” Looking at Harry’s dumfounded face, Dumbledore continued. “They are not treated like lab rats, Harry. They live comfortably inside the labs and are being fed and watched over closely. They _choose_ to become part of the studies.”

 

Harry shook his head, unable to grasp his racing thoughts. “But… but Riddle showed me his memory of his observation in the Unspeakable labs…”

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore gave a small nod. “And did you see Mr. Riddle place that memory in the Pensieve?” Harry shook his head mutely. “Memories are very easy to manipulate, Harry. He could have had time to create a false memory.”

 

Before Harry could fully come to terms with what Dumbledore had said, the door to the man’s office opened, this time, Riddle stood on the other side. The man looked furious; his eyes still crimson in color. “What lies are you spinning, Dumbledore?” Slit crimson eyes landed on Harry and Harry had to turn away, staring at Dumbledore’s desk.

 

“Mr. Riddle, you are not welcome in my school.” Dumbledore stood up, his powerful aura spreading across the room. “You resigned last spring, therefore, you are not a professor.”

 

Riddle chuckled, the sound sending goose bumps down Harry’s spine. “Are you _threatened,_ Albus?” Hands landed on his shoulders, a heavy reminder that Riddle was _there_. “I’m sure you’ve told Harry the Unspeakables have not done any harm.”

 

“They haven’t,” Dumbledore replied smoothly.

 

“He claims that the prisoners are criminals who have chosen their current fate over life at Azkaban.” Harry commented lightly, cocking his head toward Riddle. The wizards were staring levelly at each other, both the wizards’ gazes strong.

 

“Is that right?” Riddle whispered softly, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders. “I know, Harry, you are smart enough not to believe this man’s manipulations.”

 

Harry sat there, motionless. He studied Dumbledore’s tense shoulders and dangerous blue eyes. He had never seen Dumbledore like this before. The Headmaster’s eyes weren’t on Harry, but they were on Tom, watching the man carefully.

 

Dumbledore’s posture said it all.

 

“I thought you said Tom was messed up in the head.” Harry murmured softly, his teeth grinding together to hide his inconsolable expression. Dumbledore glanced quickly at Harry. “Then why…” Harry started, feeling his world spin. “Would you be so threatened by him?”

 

Riddle’s fingers loosened on his shoulders.

 

“Harry?” Dumbledore asked, a frown creasing his eyebrows.

 

“You’ve never been threatened before. No matter the situation, you’ve always been calm or determined. An insane man that has a messed up head shouldn’t be a threat to you. You feel threatened because he’s right and he told me the truth.” His words were acidic on his tongue. How could his mentor lie so easily?

 

Harry stood up, feeling weak kneed. “You know, sir, the greatest betrayal to me is that you knew all along and kept it from me. You _manipulated_ me for years.” Harry gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head at the man. “But the biggest betrayal… the biggest betrayal came when you comforted me after my parents died. After they were _killed_ by the very same people you are defending.”

 

Dumbledore placed his palm on his desk, leaning toward Harry, his blue eyes bright. “I did it for the greater good. You are too young to understand-,”

 

“I’m _not_ too young,” Harry spat. “I know what the Unspeakables are doing is _no_ good. Where the hell is the greater good if you are torturing and kidnapping innocent human beings? Doing unethical experiments? Starving them? Injecting them with diseases to see the affects?”

 

“They are not innocent, Harry.” Dumbledore’s expression was grim. “Is that what Tom is trying to tell you? That they are innocent creatures? No. They are not. They are Dark wizards who’ve killed, who’ve practiced Dark Arts on innocents that couldn’t defend themselves.”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry murmured, taking a step back from the desk. “But were they properly trialed? Where is the proof they’ve killed? And even if there is proof, how is it ethical by punishing them with an act worse than death?”

 

Riddle was standing off to the side, silent. Harry was grateful that the man wasn’t interrupting, that he was only observing.

 

“The world is a safer place because of the Unspeakables. Our children will be safer; the society is cleaner, brighter.”

 

Harry shook his head in denial. “My parents worshiped you.” He remembered the stars in James and Lily’s eyes as they spoke of the great Albus Dumbledore. “And they raised me to honor and respect you.” Harry had always been ecstatic to meet with Dumbledore whenever the man visited. “But they saw the ugliness in your world. They were killed because of _your_ greater good.”

 

“If you are siding with Tom because of revenge, Harry, then you are doing it for the wrong reason.”

 

“No, I’m doing it for the greater good,” Harry smiled mockingly, throwing the man’s own words back at him. “But I’ll tell you how _good_ it felt when I have taken my revenge.” With one last stare, Harry turned his heel and exited the office he had sought reassurance so many times before.

 

As he fled, he heard Dumbledore speak to Riddle perfectly well.

 

“And you are a fool, Tom, for thinking you can rein and train an uncontrolled Magus. The boy will kill you. And he won’t stop there. Our world will have chaos.”

 

As much as Harry was betrayed by the man, and wanted to be numb to anything Dumbledore said, those words pierced him hard. The way Dumbledore said it… it made Harry sound like an uncontrollable beast. A freak that would never be in control.

 

“Perhaps that is a risk I’m willing to take, Albus. I wish you luck.” Riddle responded coolly.

 

Without waiting for Riddle, who was likely trailing him, Harry sprinted off the grounds of Hogwarts. His eyes were blinded by hot tears that wouldn’t fall. He refused to let them fall. Once his foot stepped over the anti-apparation wards, he apparated to the Potter summer home.

 

He found himself standing at the edge of the dock, staring out into the far abyss of endless water. Without really thinking, he stepped off the edge, emerging himself in the cool water. He wasn’t intending to kill himself; he just needed a wake up call, something that would _shake_ him out of this haze.

 

Dumbledore was his mentor. _The **boy** will kill you. _But apparently Harry wasn’t anything to the man. The way Dumbledore called him ‘boy’…

 

His feet touched the bottom of the lake and he crouched down, keeping position at the bottom. Bubbles escaped his mouth, looking like miniature glass spheres dancing upwards. _And you are a fool, Tom, for thinking you can_ rein _and train an uncontrolled Magus._

Merlin. The man sounded so revolted, so disappointed. It was if Dumbledore had never felt anything sentimental toward Harry. To Albus, Harry was only an uncontrollable freak that would bring the world to chaos. Would Dumbledore kill him for ‘the greater good’?

 

His eyes shot open and he locked eyes with bright crimson. Riddle’s lips were in a thin frown as he reached forward and curled his fingers around Harry’s collar, pulling him upward. Once they broke the waves, Harry choked in a breath, his lungs thanking him. Riddle had one arm around Harry’s waist and one arm swimming toward the deck. As they reached the wooden pier, Riddle pulled them both up.

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Riddle barked out, angry. The man was laying on top him, peering irritably down at Harry.

 

“I was swimming, what the hell did it look like I was doing?” Harry spat back, collapsing his head against the dock and breathing heavily. They were both dripping wet, their clothes pasted to their skin. Riddle’s hair was dropping water in Harry’s face, making it difficult for him to breath.

 

“It looked as if you were attempting to kill yourself, _again_.” Riddle said disgustingly. He struggled off Harry, his movements weighed down by his watered down robes.

 

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?” Harry growled, water spraying from his lips. “I’m just your tool, your means of getting back at the Ministry.”

 

The two sat on their knees, nose to nose. “Do you really think that?” Riddle said softly, his eyes hard. The crimson eyes saw too much, they could easily peer inside Harry’s soul.

 

Riddle’s expression softened and he reached out and took Harry roughly by the shoulders.

 

Harry found himself being embraced by his old professor, by the very same man he was bred to hate. Unwillingly, his body slumped in Riddle’s hold, his chin settling on the man’s shoulder. His eyes were sorrow filled as he stared out toward the lake. “He was like my grandfather,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

 

Riddle wrapped one arm around his back and buried his other hand in Harry’s hair. “I know,” Riddle responded softly, his own chin on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“He was my grandfather,” Harry murmured again, allowing his grief to wash over him. The betrayal was sharp. Harry had been warned by Riddle beforehand, but he had wanted to be proved wrong. He wanted his mentor to be the man Harry always believed he was.

 

Any other time, he would balk at his weakness, especially in front of Riddle. Tomorrow he could go back to hating the man when he was thinking clearly.

 

But just this once, he accepted the man’s rare comfort.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

 

“Where is that boy?” Tom muttered darkly to himself as he slammed Harry’s door shut behind him. The portraits on the wall grumbled at the vibration of the door slamming and sent him dirty looks.

 

“Bloody Half-blood, dirty blood…” they sneered at his back. Tom just grinned to himself as he swaggered down to the lower level of the house.

 

“Have you seen Harry?” He didn’t like asking House Elves anything of importance, but the boy was gone. The brief thought of Harry running back to Dumbledore brushed across his mind before he placed it away and behind his shields. The boy wouldn’t go back to the old man. Wasn’t it just yesterday afternoon where Tom had held the boy to his wet chest, embracing him?

 

He repressed a shudder at the memory. Casual sex was one thing, but _comforting_ was another. Tom couldn’t remember ever comforting another like he had Harry. There were times, when he was courting wizards and witches to his side in which he had to pat their shoulder comfortingly as they told their dark tales of the Ministry and their wishes for revenge, but he had never held a body so close and reassuringly like he had his Gem.

 

Which, he understood, was expected. He told himself beforehand that he would have to do more… intimate things with Harry in order to sway the boy fully to the Dark side. He would have to open himself up and he would have to do things he would never have imagined. Like sharing his memories and holding. It was all part of his plan to secure Harry. His other followers, although lustful of his attention, would never hold a flame to Harry.

 

“Swimming, Mister Riddle,” the House Elf shook as he bowed his ears in submission. “Would Mister Riddle like Tippy to make Lunch for Mister Riddle?”

 

Tom was out the door before the Elf got the chance to finish its question.

 

Swimming… the boy had better not be doing a relapse of a suicide mission. Tom had thought the boy vanished his thoughts of suicide the day he found out about the Ministry.

 

But his worries were for naught as he stumbled across the boy pushing himself up on the deck from the water. Water cascaded down the lithe body as the boy… young man… climbed gracefully to his feet. Unwillingly, Tom watched the droplets trail down the curve of the elegant neck and wound its way across the bony shoulders and down the delectable arch of the boy’s lower back. The young man’s body was always lithe, with a few muscles from Quidditch, but otherwise, he was average height, almost appearing petite.

 

Tom swallowed past the blockage in his throat, his eyes greedily drinking in his students exposed body. It was wrong of him, oh, most certainly, but when did he ever stick to morals? He was a Dark Lord and Harry James Potter had the most _delectable_ body.

 

The black hair had grown out, fitting the boy’s sense of fragile beauty. Despite the lithe body, Harry had a face full of sharp and almost delicate angles. Tom had never really paid attention to the boy’s appearance, always seeing the student and not the whole package.

 

But Merlin’s beard, Tom couldn’t find it in himself to shy away from the sharp green eyes as they turned to him. One thing was for certain, he had never been oblivious of the stunning eyes. He remembered, watching the small eleven year old being sorted. Those eyes were the first thing he took notice of.

 

“Riddle,” Harry frowned and nonchalantly dried his hair with his towel. “No matter what you think, I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

 

“I wasn’t thinking as much,” Tom replied coolly. He took a few steps forward in advance, his eyes not shy. Let the boy see him looking. He enjoyed it when Harry shifted, seemingly uncomfortable. Tom was sure the boy wasn’t a virgin, not after months of being a successful Quidditch star. But Tom found himself wondering if the boy favored men. Probably not… but that didn’t mean Tom couldn’t try.

 

If he wanted Harry sexually, he could make it happen, albeit, the boy would fight the attraction, but the chase was always the most fun.

 

“Really?” Harry asked spitefully, his green eyes narrowing. “Then why were you hurrying down this way?” Regrettably the towel wrapped around the Gryffindor’s shoulders, covering most of the boy’s body.

 

“Get dressed,” did he really say that? “And meet me in the foyer.” With that, he turned his shoulder on the shorter wizard.

 

What he wanted to know is why his hormones were raging like a teenage boy. He had never been attracted to another like _this_. But of course, no other was a Magus with _power_ and a beautiful figure. Perhaps he’d found another void Harry could fill in his life other than an ally.

 

A consort? Or perhaps something a bit more?

 

_Now now, Tom, lets not rush into things._

 

His first goal was to train Harry. Pursuing Tom’s attraction was off the list until he had Harry fully on his side.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry tugged at his robes, sitting down on the chair, watching Riddle pace back and forth. “It’s up to you,” Riddle’s voice floated back around at Harry, reminding him he needed to make a decision.

 

Riddle had just sprung the news at him like it was nothing. “You…” Harry paused, unable to grasp for words. “You mean the Unspeakable lab moved to France?”

 

Riddle turned his heel, staring at Harry as if he were an idiot. This man was exceedingly different from the one who rocked him back and forth on the deck yesterday. This man was more cool and nonchalant, appearing cold and closed off. But Harry had seen a side of Riddle that no one else probably saw. And yesterday was proof enough that there _was_ a soft side of Tom Riddle underneath all that ice and smugness.

 

“Would you like me to repeat what I said, Harry? I said Rookwood enclosed the lab’s whereabouts yesterday. Would you like for me to bring you to France where they are currently residing? It’s up to you.”

 

Harry balked. “I know what you bloody hell said, you wanker.” He mumbled it but still earned a stare from those crimson eyes. Harry refused to shudder and look away. Those eyes… they held a glint in them that hadn’t been present before. The glint seemed to begin after Harry had finished swimming in the lake this morning. At first he had correlated it with the fact Riddle had been suspicious that Harry was trying to kill himself again, but his intuition had dissipated after Riddle kept the stare.

 

The stare that seemed to grow fiercer…

 

“I want to go,” Harry started again, composing himself. Yesterday had been hell. His most beloved mentor hadn’t seen eye to eye with him. For the whole night, he had stayed awake, thinking of his conversation with Dumbledore. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Dumbledore really thought what he was doing was ‘good’. The man didn’t see anything wrong with what the Unspeakables were doing. He only saw it as good for the wizarding world.

 

He bowed his head, his frown growing. Still, no matter how much Dumbledore believed what he was doing was for the greater good, it didn’t take away the fact the man knew his parents had been murdered. And the man had been there to comfort him.

 

“You want to go,” Riddle repeated after Harry. “If that is what you wish…”

 

The man held out a gloved hand toward Harry. “Wait,” Harry started, inching _away_ from the hand. “We’re leaving now? Just the two of us? But what if there are Unspeakables there?”

 

Crimson eyes mocked him. “Do you realize _why_ they call it the Unspeakable lab, Harry? Simply because they have Unspeakables in the lab.” Harry groaned at the cynical answer, reaching out to grasp the hand. Riddle smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s _my_ boy.”

 

It was too late to escape the man’s hold.

 

They apparated.

 

Harry swallowed his nausea, looking around the dark alleyway. The brick ground was caked with wet mud and moss. They stood in between two tall buildings that seemed never ending. In between the two brick and dark stoned buildings strung lines for clothes to dry on. The clothes themselves appeared as if they hadn’t been taken off for over a decade, their color faded and holes appearing in the fabric.

 

Harry quickly moved his foot away as a rat scurried across the toe of his shoes. “This is France?” He questioned; a light sneer in his voice as he watched a man stumble on his feet before collapsing against the slick bricks.

 

“The hidden slums of France, yes.” Riddle took hold of his bicep, pulling him away from the moaning man. The Dark Lord cast a disgusted look at the muggle as the man begged for a bit of food.

 

“Reckon we can tour France at a later date?” Harry mused out loud.

 

Riddle shot him a look. “It is my dream, Mr. Potter, to visit the romantic city of Paris with you.”

 

“I thought so,” Harry muttered darkly. “I take that is a no.” They made their way down cracked cement stairs, the corners black with dirt and other unexplained objects. If Harry looked close enough, he could see rat fur and rat droppings in the street cracks. Standing side by side, they could barely fit through the tight alleyway. Harry took notice in the way Riddle tried not to rub his expensive looking robes against the slimy walls of the building.

 

“I’m sure you’d want nothing better to do than stuff your face with crème delights after seeing the underground labs.” The sarcasm was just as dry as ever and Harry’s lips quirked. But then he became somber after he realized what he was about to see.

 

“Do you think…Remus Lupin is down there? In the labs, I mean?” He had studied the picture of his parents, Sirius, and Remus the night before. The werewolf looked happy, almost blissfully so standing between Sirius and James. To think that his parents had gone down to the Unspeakable labs just to save him made Harry realize just how much they loved their friend. If he could, he would save Remus. For them.

 

Tom sighed, pausing in their quick retreat. “Harry,” the man said softly, placing his hands on his shoulders. “The labs aren’t as Dumbledore explained them to you. They didn’t choose this fate, they don’t get fed enough, and they reside in prison cells that are too small. You must realize that the Unspeakables are experimenting on them with diseases and spells. It is rare if they live a year, Harry.”

 

Harry realized that Riddle was trying to put his hopes down lightly. “You… you’re saying that you believe Remus is dead?” He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to remain emotionless. But Riddle saw through. He always saw through Harry.

 

The Dark Lord sighed lightly and he attempted to soften his expression for Harry. “I’m just telling you not to get your hopes up. And if, somehow, Lupin is alive, there may be many barriers you will need to cross before he’s back to normal. He may, forever be mentally scarred.”

 

“You’re right of course,” Harry turned away, slipping the hands from his shoulders. “It’s just a childish hope, to have a part of my family alive…” Two days ago he thought Dumbledore was his only ‘family’ left. But now, he felt more alone than ever. “Lets go,” he continued walking slowly, wanting to cut off the conversation.

 

Riddle came at his side again and looped his arm around Harry’s, his gloved fingers tightening around his elbow. “Remember your temper when you are down there. Think of this as a training tool. What you see down there is disturbing, it will, perhaps, be the most disquieting image you will ever see.”

 

“Was it for you?” Harry asked softly, turning to look up at the Dark Lord. “Were the labs the worst image you have ever seen?”

 

Riddle remained silent for a good while, his fingers tightening on Harry’s elbow. “I’ve seen many unsettling things, Harry. But I can say the labs are at the top of the list.” Harry wondered what other things Riddle had seen to rival the labs, but brushed it away. It best if he think of only one morbid thing at a time.

 

With his free hand, Riddle pulled up Harry’s hood, securing it around his face. He then did the same with his own as they crossed into, what seemed to be, a wizarding ward. The tight alleyway seemed to expand into its own wizarding shops, almost similar to Diagon Alley, or, more realistically, as Knockturn Alley. Men and women in cloaks and robes browsed the display windows of the shops while others bargained at trolleys.

 

“Odd,” Harry muttered as he watched the wizards and witches move with almost an unnatural grace. “They… seem…”

 

“Fake? Replicas?” Riddle murmured silkily, pulling Harry with him. Their bodies were close, almost unnaturally close. “It’s simply because they aren’t real. They are merely a glamour, distracting unwanted attention, or more likely, unwanted visitors to this part. No matter what you do, don’t look the Replicas’ in the eye. Strangers and unwanted guests find themselves forever paralyzed in this part by looking at the Replicas’ gaze.”

 

Harry immediately averted his eyes from the inhuman wizards. Instead, he stared at his feet, trusting Riddle enough to guide him.

 

“This section in France deals with a lot of underhanded trading.”

 

“Do Dark wizards trade here?” Harry asked, getting the chills.

 

“No,” Riddle drawled. “We are nearing the Unspeakable laboratory; they would never allow Dark wizards to roam these streets. If there were Dark wizards here, those wizards would find themselves inside the laboratory, becoming mere lab rats for the Ministry’s amusement in less than seconds.”

 

“Then what are they trading?”

 

“The Ministry workers trade many illegal artifacts. Most of which end up in the Unspeakable’s possession. You could say this is an area where different Ministries of different countries trade together. You see, Britain is much more advanced than their neighboring allies. The Ministries all but follow Britain’s lead, or try to, at least.”

 

Harry blanched at that, glancing quickly to the side to see one of the fake Replicas selling chocolates. “So… more countries, other than Britain have Unspeakables and labs?”

 

“I hardly think so. Britain is the chief branch. It’s true, though, that other foreigners travel to become a member of the Britain’s Unspeakables. Only valued and treasured wizards can become an Unspeakable. But all the Ministries are entwined somehow in the laboratories, whether it is their knowledge of the labs or their equipment being used.”

 

They were making their way passed the illusion, passing the windows of fake shops and people. “What other countries know of the Unspeakables?”

 

“France, Germany, Russia, and perhaps Austria. France is one of the major key players, the other three I am uncertain how far their involvement lays. They could be participating with the experiments without really understanding what France and Britain are doing. They tend to follow Britain’s policy no matter the content.”

 

Quite frankly, it sounded complicated. If all those countries were together, wouldn’t that mean it would be more difficult to take down? He voiced his question to Riddle.

 

“Not really, no. Like I said, Britain is the chief and principal branch. If we take down Britain, we have a chance at controlling the other countries. Especially if we reveal to the people what the Ministry was doing with their Unspeakables.”

 

They seemed to walk out of the replica city as the wards bent around them and spat them back out toward the small and bare alleyway. “That’s it?” Harry looked back to where they were standing, only to see the long, thin stretch of alleyway. There were no signs of the replica town square they had just passed through.

 

“They only need a small, hidden, city to trade.” Harry grimaced at the answer. He was certain no muggle could enter that… replica city with the wards, but a wizard could stumble upon it. An innocent wizard who would, of course, ask help for directions and find themselves paralyzed in the fake wizards’ stare. It was unjust. Just because the Ministry was doing illegal trading meant that others were affected. 

 

“What happens to the wizards that get paralyzed?” Harry wondered.

 

“I’m not too certain. But I assume that the Ministry workers unfreeze them and _oblivate_ them. Especially if they are Light wizards. They would never harm their kin, now would they?”

 

“Still… it’s uncanny. That whole place…” he trailed off, unable to express what he felt in words. He supposed the Ministry would need somewhere to meet, to trade information and artifacts, but creating something that would damage and trap innocents was a little extreme. Granted, they freed those who stumbled across the hidden town but it reminded Harry of a Venus flytrap.

 

“You haven’t seen the worst yet, love,” Riddle murmured quietly. “We are almost there.” He could tell by Riddle’s voice that silence was key. “You must understand that we are stepping on our enemy’s territory. I _will_ be killing, Harry, and I don’t want to have any unnecessary pauses when you argue with me.”

 

Harry breathed in deep, nodding. He understood.

 

He just didn’t know it would be this soon.

 

 _“Avada Kedavra,”_ Riddle said it quietly and quickly, his wand moving too fast for Harry to track. But he heard a body go down to his left and a set of lifeless eyes stared up at him. “That felt good,” Riddle mused lightly. “I haven’t had any fun for… a day, I suppose.” Meaning, Rookwood was Riddle’s last bit of ‘fun’.

 

Numbly, Harry watched as Riddle stuck the body deeper into a corner, away from notice. “I don’t suppose there are many Unspeakables here. I mean… they had that fake town for defense.”

 

“You’re correct, of course,” Riddle led them into a tiny alcove in the brick building and the atmosphere seemed to grow thicker, colder, and more moist. They were in what appeared to be a compact tunnel, the darkness almost overwhelming. But Riddle seemed to know where he was going as they took a sharp right.  “They do the majority of their experiments in Britain and _then_ travel here to administer the spells or diseases to their test rats. They would be fools to keep their equipment _and_ test rats in the same place… silence.” Riddle pushed Harry against the wall as they flattened themselves against a compact corner.

 

Harry resisted a disgusted moan as thick and slimy water dripped down the back of his hands from the wall. Further down the compact corridor, a voice was murmuring quietly to a companion. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he tried to understand the dialogue, yet it appeared as if a charm was placed over them, making it sound as if they were underwater. Even in the dark, Harry was aware of Riddle’s wand at the ready, just in case they two Aurors would turn around.

 

The figures in white cloaks passed their hiding position without detection.

 

Riddle kept his eyes on Harry, almost appearing to be thinking of something. Before he could register, both their robes stained white. “It’ll be easier to roam freely. Just keep your hood _up_.” The Dark Lord’s palms caressed Harry’s cheeks before adjusting the hood further forward. “That doesn’t mean we’ll be able to go passed magical detections. I want you to open up your magic, Harry. I want you to look out for wards or triggers that will set an alarm to our presence.”

 

“How do I do that?” Harry whispered as the continued after the two Unspeakables left.

 

“Every bit of magic leaves traces. You’ve felt the wards as we entered the replica city, didn’t you? We just have to detect them before we trigger them.”

 

Harry tried to clam himself and open his eyes to the environment around him. He tried to see more than just greasy bricks and corridors that suffocated him. It was difficult, especially when he didn’t know what to look for. “Here,” Riddle murmured. “Do you see this? Do you feel it?” The man, with his free hand from Harry’s arm, traced an area with his wand.

 

For a few minutes, Harry didn’t see anything. It wasn’t until it vibrated when he caught sight of it. The ward appeared like a spider web with drops of rainbow dew sliding along the clear stringy web. “This is an old ward, one that was constructed-,”

 

Riddle continued on with his boring monologue and Harry turned him out. Something was off. While the ward in front of them was obviously placed to alert of strangers’ presence, something was wrong.

 

His eyes turned to the side, despite Riddle’s ongoing lesson. “Tom,” Harry muttered, shocked. Riddle stopped talking abruptly. Perhaps it was because Harry used his given name. “What… what is that?” Harry pointed to his side of the tunnel.

 

The longer he stared at it, the more it looked like a web of wards. He looked back at Riddle, watching as the man’s crimson eyes squinted from beneath the hood. “My my, little one,” Riddle purred, his wand now trailed on the almost hidden web. “I think you’ve found the real entrance.” Harry couldn’t help the smug smirk from sliding across his lips.

 

“Of course I did,” he took out his wand. Riddle gave a small moan, no doubt telling him the _proper_ way to unwind a ward, but with Harry’s Magus, he successfully took the web down himself. No alarms triggered. Once the web was down, a corridor appeared. From the looks of the dark corridor, there were doors on either side. “A cheery place,” Harry whispered, walking down the tunnel corridor.

 

Riddle’s arm was still looped through his own as they made their way down the moldy path. To his immediate right, there was an open room full of white tile and shower heads. A bathroom. He wondered, briefly, how often the Unspeakables bathed their lab rats.

 

Passing the shower room, they approached the first door. There was a window in the door and Harry had to stand on his tiptoes in order to peer inside. He swallowed, feeling sweat start to bead across his brow. Inside, cell doors were lined up, each of them housing two or more inhabitants. Unlike the iron bars Harry had seen in Riddle’s memory, these cells were made out of glass or strong plastic.

 

The prisoners’ health was in horrible shape as Harry could easily see their bones jutting out from their bodies. Harry spotted aluminum bowls and water basins inside, but the food wasn’t enough, judging from their sunken bodies.

 

The prisoners sat gloomily inside, not one of them talked with the others. Their eyes looked too big for their sunken faces and most of their lips were cracked, bleeding from the dryness. All their heads were shaved and their uniforms were a dull black in color. Each of them were assigned a number, no doubt identification to which prisoner was taking which disease or curse. After all, the Unspeakables needed their data and results of a potion and whatnot. It was almost like being Snape’s lab rat. Harry was sure there were many prisoners inside who had to drink experimental potions…

 

The cell closest to Harry occupied a boy who sat on the wiry bunk bed. His bare feet swung over the edge in a bored fashion. Compared to the others, he looked healthier, almost as if he had just arrived in the Unspeakable lair. And to make matters worse, he appeared around the same age as Harry himself.

 

“The Unspeakables seemed to improve their living arrangements,” Riddle mused right next to Harry.

 

“If you could say that,” Harry’s neck was sore from extending so far to see in. “They look horrible.”

 

“What do you expect? I presume they only get a meal once a day. And on top of that, they are either injected with a disease in order to experiment on, or a lethal potion or spell that may be causing internal or external damage. Unspeakables crave knowledge. That is the whole reason they have labs like this. They need to know affects from diseases, spells, and potions on humans.”

 

It was unethical. Harry said it before and he would say it again and again. What they were doing… it wasn’t right.

 

Further down, a woman was sobbing into her hands. Harry felt his heart wrench at the scene they all made, her especially. She was the most vocal and emotional. Next to her glass, or Plexiglas prison, an Unspeakable was hauling out a corpse. Harry ducked lower in the window, watching as the white cloaked wizard checked the corpse’s body, his magical quill writing furiously next to him.

 

“I have to admit,” Riddle drawled darkly. “Without these labs, without the Unspeakable’s experiments, we wouldn’t have half of the successful potions we have now in the medical field. Many inventions were created because of these experiments.”

 

Harry turned his head around, staring into those crimson eyes. Riddle was peering inside the room, his face a mask of stone. He didn’t seem very phased by what he was seeing. “Are you serious?” Harry hissed darkly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“Hush, your eloquence always astounds me.” Riddle’s split crimson eyes turned to him finally. “Just because they have created successful potions and spells from these… labs… doesn’t mean I approve. I don’t. These are prisoners, men and women who were abducted from their homes and families just because they have Dark magic in their blood. Judging by the looks of this wing, I think this is the human division.”

 

“The human division?” Harry turned back to look inside. “You mean… they have their own section for werewolves?” Remus.

 

“For Dark creatures, yes,” Riddle’s hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him away from the room. “Come on, next window. Or…have you seen enough?”

 

“I want to see the werewolves,” Harry said in a resolved manner. “But… why can’t we just free all of them? I’m sure you and I can take on the Unspeakables.”

 

“You amaze me with your flattery and arrogance, Mr. Potter, and your… Gryffindor tendencies. Not only do you not understand the full meaning behind an Unspeakable hideout, but you overestimate your powers. You are not controlled yet. You will bring us both down with this place. We will, with time, rescue these people. Just not today.”

 

“With time,” Harry scoffed darkly, throwing the man a look. “With time they might all be dead already.” His mind conjured up the image of the Unspeakable hauling out the corpse in the prison room, looking over his body with interest. It was repulsive.

 

Arms encircled him from behind and Harry stiffened at the feel of Riddle moving up against him. “Must you always argue with me?” Before Harry could really… _understand_ what was happening, Riddle let him go, taking hold of his elbow once again. “If we take a peek in the werewolf division, do I have your word you won’t charge inside and yell for your werewolf?”

 

_My werewolf._

 

Harry glowered but answered anyway. “Yes… I suppose.”

 

He approached the next door and stood on his toes, peering inside. He was met with desperate eyes. There was a man, on a bed, being injected by a syringe. The emotions inside those eyes were enough to leave Harry breathless and frozen.

 

He was too late to duck away when the Unspeakable whirled around, meeting eyes with him.

 

“Oh… fuck,” he muttered.

 

This couldn’t be good.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 

He swiftly ducked and turned away from the window, glancing wide eyed at Riddle. Harry’s mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ as if he were stuck in time. The man hadn’t seen into the window yet, and instead, he was making his way over slowly with a guarded swagger. “What is it?” Riddle asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Harry’s expression. “What did you do _now_ , Harry?”

 

“Nothing?” he whispered hoarsely, his heart pounding quickly. “Actually, why don’t we go in this other room here….”

 

He all but lunged at Riddle curling his fingers around the man’s cold hand and dragging him further down the wet corridor. “Harry-,” Riddle started darkly.

 

Harry cut the man off again as he caught sight of the ‘Lycan’ ward. He pushed Riddle inside the swinging door just as the Unspeakable glided from the room Harry just spied in. He breathed in deeply, trying to control himself. As he leaned against the wall, safe, he contemplated on the situation. Green eyes flashed towards Riddle’s emotionless face. “I may have drawn some unwanted attention. That’s all.”

 

“That’s all?” Riddle questioned, his eyebrows raised. “I suppose that wouldn’t be very significant… drawing all the Unspeakables to our whereabouts.” Riddle spoke dryly, pushing Harry against the wall.

 

Harry was more involved with the wing he was standing in than Riddle’s mocking. The Lycan division was far colder, more heartbreaking than the human ward. There were half transformed werewolves shuddering in pain in their _cages_. Some where human while others were fully transformed. All of them were whining or howling. Their amber eyes were trained on Harry and Riddle, their nostrils flaring as they sniffed them out.

 

Harry had to turn away from their desperate stares and cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. It stunk incredibly like urine and feces. 

 

Before he could subconsciously take comfort in Riddle’s presence, the man slithered out the door and back into the corridor. Eyes widening, Harry opened the door a crack, watching the proceedings. Riddle had his hands in the air, a gesture of surrender. His white hood was still drawn, covering his features. Outwardly, he looked like all the other Unspeakables, but even Harry could sense the powerful dark aura surrounding him, instantly labeling him as an intruder.

 

No words were spoken between the two. The Unspeakable had his wand out, pointing directly at Tom. Their steps were light, almost cat-like and suspicious as they circled one another. The Unspeakable had yet to spot Harry behind the door and that was in their advantage.

 

The crimson eyes of Riddle glanced at him just briefly and then back at his opponent. Harry knew that look.

 

Ignoring the pitiful whines of the werewolves behind him, Harry drew his wand. As the Unspeakable turned back advanced closer, Harry snapped his wand outside the Lycan room and stunned the man. Before his wand could even lower, Riddle has his own wand out and he shot the _Avada Kedavra_ at the falling form. The man was dead before he could even hit the floor.

 

“That was perhaps _not_ the smartest thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself.” Riddle flashed an almost bashful smile. “We need to leave. Now. I’m more than certain your magic and mine triggered a silent alarm.”

 

“But,” Harry hesitated, turning to look over his shoulder at the Lycans. Remus. He was so close, just _inches_ away. 

 

“Harry,” Riddle hissed, eyes narrowing into crimson slits. “We don’t have time to search for your werewolf. Listen to me, trust me, _now_.”

 

His mind was tugged in both directions. He knew Riddle was right. The Unspeakables would be alerted to their presence from their cast magic, but Remus Lupin could have been inside, reaching out desperately for someone to save him. Giving a flustered growl, Harry swung the Lycan door open completely and walked stiffly toward Riddle. The man immediately wrapped his arm around his waist, ushering them quickly back the way they came.

 

They passed the human division and then they passed the showers, finally making it out into the main tunnel where Harry spotted the alternative entrance. Their footsteps were quick, slapping on the stone with the soles of their shoes. Harry stepped in a puddle, the muddy liquid seeping and staining the length of his white cloak.

 

He only glanced down once to survey the damage, trusting Riddle’s guiding arm, but as soon as he looked up, he got a face full of light heading in his direction. Before he could even _think,_ the spell slammed into his face, rivaling the feel of a heavy fist. He groaned loudly, falling out of Riddle’s hold and on his arse, cupping his nose.

 

The blood poured into his cupped hands, obscuring his vision completely.

 

His nose was broken. He knew it. He would be like _Snape_.

 

As he struggled to pull his hands away from his face, afraid to even touch the appendage, another light bounced off the walls of the dark tunnel, embracing him. His body twisted in a sort of flip, flying the distance of a few yards before crashing into the brick wall. Harry grunted penetratingly, falling pathetically on his stomach. He was having trouble breathing and was sure a cracked rib now accompanied his broken nose.

 

Rolling his neck and trying to gather his bearings, he blinked blurry eyed at the approaching Unspeakables. Harry tried looking passed them at Riddle, but his head spun when he saw the group of white robed wizards fighting. It was hard to tell which one was Riddle among that crowd.

 

“Come quietly,” one Unspeakable ordered, his wand pointed downward at Harry. He wasn’t the only one armed and ready. His four companions all approached Harry in a semi-circle, their wands at the ready.

 

“Like hell I will,” Harry grunted, throwing up his arms and channeling his power toward the ceiling. 

 

A few heavy rocks wiggled themselves free from the roof, tumbling down upon the Unspeakables, knocking them out- or- perhaps killing them on impact. Harry groaned, lying still before forcing himself to stand up. Placing a hand on the wall to steady his racing vision and head, he studied the noticeable space around him that was free of rubble. His magic hadn’t allowed the heavy stones to topple on top him; instead, his magic had protected him from any rubble.

 

Cracking his neck, Harry stepped over the body of an Unspeakable and made his way toward Riddle at a slow and composed pace. He could see the Dark Lord now. It was almost impossible not to notice him. There were many Unspeakables fallen at his feet. Harry supposed most were dead, no, he was _sure_ all those that lay at the man’s feet were dead. No matter how hard he tried, he could feel no pity for the fallen men. What they were doing to those innocents inside the labs was a lot harsher than the sudden death Riddle graced them with.

 

His wand, clutched loosely in his hand, was slick with his sweat and blood. With a small, almost lazy gesture, he flicked his wand toward the small rock boulders and lifted them in the air. As if he were a Beater on the Quidditch team, he slashed his wand through the air, directing them at the other Unspeakables surrounding Tom. Between Harry and Riddle, Tom seemed to have attracted more Unspeakables. Harry was sure it was because he appeared to be the bigger threat because of age and height. 

 

One Unspeakable gave a gruff yelp as the rock hit him squarely in the forehead. He went down hard, his head lolling awkwardly to the side. The thought of if he was dead or alive never crossed Harry’s head. Instead, he focused his magic on to the remaining wizards.

 

Three more Unspeakables were left. Riddle was engaging with two in a fierce duel, his movements so fluid and graceful that Harry had to shake himself in order to snap out of his daze. The man truly was a powerful and decent wizard. And like Riddle stated earlier, he was perhaps the only one who could really train Harry. Already, Tom had done so much for Harry in regards to his temper and gaining control.

 

If it wasn’t for Riddle’s teachings, Harry was sure he’d be in an uncontrolled rage, no doubt bringing down the entire ceiling- successfully killing both he and Riddle.

 

Focusing on the Unspeakable who had noticed Harry, Harry held up his wand, his eyes cold. With just a small wave of his wand, the Unspeakable’s wand flew out from his hands. But before Harry could do any further action, he was taken by surprise at the object thrown at him. It hit him in the shoulder and rolled uselessly on the ground. Green eyes looked at the ball, confusion written all over his face.

 

What was the hell was the purpose of _that_?

 

He shouldn’t have just stood there, staring at the hollow palm sized ball like an idiot. Because within the next second, his wand dropped form his trembling hand, clattering uselessly on the stone ground. His whole body was on fire and Harry gave a small scream, crumbling down on his knees. It was if his body was full of electrical shocks, burning and zapping him. His movements were involuntary, almost like he was in a middle of a seizure.

 

His mind didn’t think straight. Nothing made sense.

 

Someone kneeled quickly beside him, brushing away the hair that fell in his eyes in an almost tender gesture. “Use your magic, Harry.” He knew that voice… didn’t he? Yes… he was sure he knew the man who spoke. “You’re a Magus.” The voice continued. “Use your powers to wipe it from your system, Harry.”

 

Harry made an involuntary gurgling sound, trying to speak. His vision was swimming wildly and his body was jumping and twitching from the ground.

 

Cold hands grabbed his face, demanding his eyes and attention on the man crouching in front of him. “Focus Harry.” Crimson eyes pierced through him, totally dismissing the approaching Unspeakable behind him. Harry gave a heavy tongued groan, looking at the Unspeakable. The white robed wizard raised his wand at Riddle’s turned back.

 

He can focus…  He remembered he had power, power that was abnormal to him yet so powerful that he could _will_ things to his liking. Shuddering on the ground, he spread the warmth from his magical core throughout his entire body. The power from his magical core extended through his system, washing away the dark spread of alien magic the Unspeakable threw at him.

 

The fog slowly lifted and his involuntary shuddering came to a halt. For one of the first few times, Harry treasured the magic he possessed.

 

Through clear eyes, he shot up his arm beyond Riddle’s shoulder focusing his mind and power on the Unspeakable. His finger trembled and barely met the target of his enemy. But with a focused mind, he struggled to bring out the same shock treatment that was just inside his body. He channeled the alien magic through his body and onto the Unspeakable. The man yelped, going down to the ground with incoherent yells and mumbles.

 

Riddle whirled around, eyeing the white robed wizard with disdain. “I could kill him,” the man started while Harry breathed in deeply, trying to control his racing and uneven pulse. “But what fun would that be? He needs to suffer.”

 

Turning back to Harry, Riddle reached downward to assist him into a sitting position. Harry groaned; his body still tight and sore with tension he placed on it. The Unspeakable was still seizuring on the ground, his face slack and horrified. Harry frowned at the vivid and gruesome scene, turning away.

 

“We need to leave before the rest of the Unspeakables decide to grace us with more of their… gadgets.” Riddle all but lifted Harry off the ground, throwing his arm around the Gryffindor’s waist. Harry limply laid his arm around Riddle’s shoulders, trusting the man enough to act as his human crutch.

 

On top of his sore and weak body, his nose was burning and his ribs were making it difficult to breathe properly. Every time he inhaled and exhaled, a wheeze escaped passed his lips. His heavy head lolled and behind his closing eyelids, all he could see were the suffering men and women inside the Unspeakable labs. They needed to be rescued as soon as possible. But the fleeting thought of their relocation crossed Harry’s mind.

 

If the Unspeakables felt their location was threatened, what was stopping them from relocating their labs again?

 

Riddle’s face revealed nothing as they entered the Replica town. His red eyes were bright, almost brooding as he held Harry against his side securely. Harry felt slightly ashamed at himself. Here he was, a powerful Magus, and he was the one to walk away the most scarred. “I’m sorry,” Harry murmured weakly. There wasn’t really anything to apologize over, but he felt the need to confess his guilt to Riddle. “You must think I’m worthless to your cause now… over the way I couldn’t handle myself back there.”

 

Despite the fact that the Unspeakables were powerful and brilliant with their inventions, Harry still felt as if he could have prevented most of the damage.

 

Crimson eyes turned to him, studying his turned face. “You are still new to all this, Harry. The last time you dueled was in the Great Hall against Mr. Malfoy. A war takes time to get accustomed to. You also aren’t fully trained.” Riddle tugged him closer, almost to reassure him. “I don’t want you to think I’m relying completely on you. That burden will not be weighing on your shoulders, do you understand? This war is my idea, I will accept that weight.”

 

Harry frowned as his foot submerged into a murky puddle. Again. “Even _you_ can’t bear that weight.” He looked at the man. Riddle was giving him his full attention, a quiet assessing. “All of us should bear it. A man can go insane from that pressure.” Harry knew. Because he felt it.

 

“You seem to be speaking from experience,” Riddle mused. “I’m serious when I tell you that you are not carrying the expectations of the outcome of the war.”

 

Harry threw him a look. No matter what Riddle said, he felt that he was a very large factor in this war. After all, Riddle admitted that he and his followers were outnumbered. A Magus would level out that unevenness.

 

And he couldn’t even defend himself against a few Unspeakables.

 

“Ready?” Riddle asked as they crossed the barrier of the Replica town. With a nod from Harry, Riddle apparated them to Potter’s summer home.

 

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Harry winced as Riddle touched his wand to his bruised and broken nose. “It will hurt,” Riddle murmured in a quiet warning before murmuring the spell underneath his breath. An audible ‘crack’ was heard throughout the sitting room and Harry gave a pained moan, his eyes watering as his nose broke back into position.

 

Holding back any more noise of pain, Harry watched through lowered lids as Riddle stood up. “What’s wrong, Riddle?” Harry asked, sensing something amiss with Tom. An owl had been waiting for Tom when they got home and Harry hadn’t been around to read Riddle’s expression when the man read the letter.

 

“I will need to go to Malfoy manor again, Harry.” Riddle sat down on the sofa next to him, both his body and face looming close. Harry nodded mutely. He blinked in surprise as Riddle placed a tender hand on his cheek. “And call me Tom, Harry. When it’s just the two of us, I don’t mind the intimacy.” The man all but purred, a small smile twitching the side of his mouth.

 

“Tom,” Harry tested out, his tongue feeling heavy and alien with the word that passed through. “Alright, I suppose that could be work...” His cheeks grew hot as Riddle continued to stare at him and the hand remained on his cheek.

 

“I don’t want you feeling guilty over what happened today. You did a good job of placing your trust in me. We’ve improved tremendously since the end of Hogwarts. A few more training lessons and you’ll be ready to defend yourself effortlessly in a battle.” The fingertips on his cheek caressed his skin before Riddle pulled away and stood up.

 

“Did you want me to come with you?” Harry turned his body, watching as Riddle made his way toward the exit. He didn’t know what made him ask. Why would he want to be anywhere _near_ the Malfoy manor again?

 

Riddle seemed to contemplate it before giving a small shake of his head. “Not yet, Harry.”

 

And then the man was gone. Harry blinked, sitting back on the sofa and staring into the flaming hearth. Here he was, inside, warm and healthy. Granted, he had a few bruises and fractures, but he was better off than those men and women in the Unspeakable labs. Living ones whole life in the small confidents of a cell was far from desirable. Not to mention, being a lab rat for experiments. It was unthinkable. And Harry felt as if he needed to do _more_ to help them.

 

A part of him wished he hadn’t listened to Riddle today in regards to Remus. His parents had died for the werewolf; they had risked everything to find him. Harry needed to at least attempt to look for him.

 

He leaned forward, burying his fingers in his messy hair. Now the Unspeakables were sure to move their labs. And Harry’s chances of finding Remus again were slim.

 

Something clattered in the room outside the living room where he sat. Harry sat straight, his breathing on pause as he tried to listen. “Tippy? Tom?” He licked his lips when he heard no answer. Tippy should have come doubtless, but the Elf was no where to be seen.

 

Cold sweat prickled the back of Harry’s neck. He stood up shakily from the couch, taking out his wand. The Potter house was hidden behind layers of wards. It would be almost impossible to spot if one didn’t know the exact location.

 

Dumbledore knew of the Potter summer house. But in Harry’s mind, he couldn’t come to terms with the fact that Dumbledore may betray Harry like that. He wouldn’t… would he?

 

Harry’s footsteps were lethally silent as he slowly looked around the corner and into the next room. Nothing seemed amiss and there was no damage pointing toward the sound he had heard. Harry relaxed his stiff posture, walking into the kitchen. “Tippy?” Harry asked again, sure the House Elf hadn’t heard the first time around.

 

A scuffing sounded behind him and he turned, expecting the Potter Elf. Instead, he was met with a hooded figure. Harry raised his wand instinctively, studying the figure opposite him with a critical eye. The man or woman was holding a staff-like wand, much longer than the average wizard’s wand but shorter than a staff. Nothing else was distinguishable behind the black cloak. “Who are you?” Harry’s voice was oddly calm through his panic and fright.

 

“No one of importance now,” the voice was most definitely masculine. “I’m just scoping out my prey…” The man paused, cocking his head to the side. “I didn’t expect you to be so young.”

 

Without waiting for a response from a frozen Harry, the man brought back his staff and whirled it around gracefully. Fire instantly ignited and Harry howled in shock, rearing backward into the cabinets as the fire licked at his shoes. The cold sweat on his neck immediately warmed and tripled across his forehead from the heat of the fire. He gasped and stubbed his foot on the floor in attempt to set out the fire that had started on his shoe.

 

He licked his lips nervously, trying to look through the high flames for the mysterious figure. He was no where to be seen.

 

With the simple will to vanish the flames, Harry flicked his wand at the fire, expecting it to disappear.

 

It didn’t.

 

Harry screamed as his wand hand was engulfed in the flames. The fire blackened his skin before the outer layer peeled easily away, revealing pink flesh. His wand dropped from the muscle and nerve damage. Harry had to suck up the pain and scramble on the ground to retrieve his fallen wand. With a renew determination, Harry waved his wand once again toward the flames with his left hand.

 

Only a small section distinguished.

 

He panted, his magic wearing thin. No matter how fast he could try to vanish the flames section by section, he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the spreading fire. And with a heavy heart, he realized that he had the option of dying to save his family home or saving himself.

 

Turning away from the advancing flames, he focused his magic on the wall behind him. With a defeated flick of his wand, the wall crumbled, a hole to the outside world welcoming him. Clenching his teeth passed the emotional and physical pain, Harry ran.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

It was to be expected that his followers would be antsy.

 

Lucius had owled him to inform him that Tom’s followers were contacting him with concern and some doubt. Training Harry had taken his priority first hand, his followers second. But he decided to make an appearance at Lucius’ home where the majority of his followers were present.

 

And sitting there, Tom was already prepared to leave. He had sipped one glass of wine and refused a second. Around him, his followers were sitting, questioning his whereabouts.

 

“Lucius informs us you have a new pet, My Lord. And that you have been giving all your time and attention to him.” Bellatrix, the ever charmer, grinned up at him. She was trying to seduce him, but he wasn’t impressed in the least. Bellatrix was a bore to him. His sights, interest, and efforts were on his new prey, Harry.

 

He didn’t even satisfy her with a glance. “A pet? I’m afraid not,” he narrowed his sights on the blonde in the far corner. Lucius bowed his head, his lips thinned. Tom raised an eyebrow at the man’s choice of words for Harry. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the papers labeling Harry Potter as an enemy, as a threat.”

 

“You cannot be serious,” Yaxley growled out. “Harry Potter is your new pet?”

 

Tom sighed. _“Crucio,”_ he waved his wand carelessly, watching through jaded eyes as the man went to his knees, screaming. “I expect _respect_ from your tongue. All of you.” He lifted the curse, flashing the man another warning look. “Harry Potter is not a pet; he is a very influential alley, a partner if you wish to label him.” He stood up, tired of reassuring his followers. His fingers gently set down the wine glass, seemingly meeting everyone’s eye. “Harry’s situation will be explained in full when he is by my side. Until then, we are laying low, out of the limelight.”

 

They may have been getting impatient, but it wasn’t much longer. After all, _he_ was the one calling the shots, not them. They may have secretly been impatient, yet they would never dare to say anything out loud- against him. They were all smarter than that. Or he assumed they were. He sent one last disdained glance at Yaxley.

 

“I trust that you all can handle yourself in the mean time?” Tom clearly was dismissing them. ‘Yes My Lords’ spread throughout the group and Tom nodded sharply, turning his heel and leaving the magically expanded den.

 

As soon as he was outside in the dark corridors, Bellatrix followed at his heels. “I’m sure you are lonely there at nights.” She whispered seductively. Tom paused, turning to look at her coolly over her shoulder. Any other time he would grant her permission to share his bed. It would seem as if that limited permission had gone to her head. His motionless form seemed to fuel her courage, for she reached forward to touch his arm.

 

Her fingers never made contact.

 

As quick as a serpent, Tom’s fingers curled around her wrist, snapping it in the opposite direction. An audible _crack_ was heard throughout the halls and Bellatrix screamed, falling to her knees. “I don’t recall granting you permission to touch me, Bella, dear,” he murmured, a grin stretching across his lips.

 

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” she gasped out through the pain of her broken wrist. “I just assumed-,”

 

“Never _assume_ anything,” he extended his foot, pushing her head down to the ground with the toe of his boot. “I find you boring, Bellatrix.”

 

“Have I been replaced, My Lord?” She whispered out, her body bending to Tom’s crushing force.

 

Tom chuckled, his eyes flashing. “I have found another interest, Bellatrix, yes. But he will never replace your status as a loose whore.” He moved his foot from her neck and turned his heel to leave. That was immensely pleasing. Sadly, he didn’t have time to continue his torture; his intuition was _itching_ to get back to Harry.

 

He disapparated inside Malfoy manor and arrived on the outskirts of the Potter house. Even if his eyes were on the ground before him, he could already see the glow reflecting off the blades of grass. 

 

It took him only a brief moment of hesitation to really understand what he was seeing.

 

The Potter home was up in flames.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

His wand was out before he could even comprehend the burning house. The house itself was in shambles, the flames so high and far up. Even a good few yards away, Tom could feel the intense heat coming from the fire. Sweat beaded at his forehead and slid down his temples. Wiping his hand across his face, Tom stumbled his way closer to the Potter summer home.

 

Tom had been gone less than an hour and the house was already attacked?

 

That boy…

 

Tom’s lips curled back, baring his teeth as a hiss escaped. The heat was so powerful; his skin was turning red and burning harshly. He backed away, surveying the house in consideration. This fire wasn’t a normal fire, even for magical standards. It was so angry and all destructible. Did Harry do this himself? Did the boy, perhaps, feel so tormented over what he had seen in the Unspeakable labs that he couldn’t control his emotions when he faced them alone?

 

It was a briefing thought, one that didn’t sit well with Tom. But his other thought on the fire didn’t sit any better.

 

Unspeakables. Did they, somehow, find a way to the Potter manor? Did Dumbledore know of their location and inform the Unspeakables? Only Harry could create a fire like this or the Unspeakable’s inventions.

 

No matter what the issue was, Tom backed away from the roaring fire, having trouble breathing passed the heat and smoke.

 

“Harry!” He yelled, peering around the darkened landscape. He held his wand out and at the ready. “ _Harry!”_ The boy couldn’t be kidnapped. The frantic thought of losing Harry was accompanied with a louder yell. “Harry!” He ran about the house, his wand casting a bright light into the surroundings.

 

If he lost the boy to his enemies, who knew what they would do to him? He was a Magus and they already had their suspicions. They would use him, kill him, destroy him…

 

His sprinting came to a slow jog when he caught sight of the shadowy figure sitting slumped on the dock. He let a sigh escape his lips, relieved, before walking calmly toward the boy. The light at the end of his wand dimmed as his feet hit the wooden dock. The fire from the house emitted enough glow to clearly see, yet he still needed his wand as guidance. “Harry?” Tom lowered his voice, uncertain at the boy’s posture.

 

Harry was slumped forward, one of his arms elbow deep in the lake. His eyes were void, numb, as he stared at his home. “It’s gone…” Harry whispered stoically.

 

Tom crouched down beside his Gem. “What happened?” He asked, frowning. Those green eyes he promised himself to brightened had dimmed to an almost onyx shade. There was no spark, no shine.

 

“I don’t even know…” Harry trailed off, his lips tugging down in a heavy frown. “It was a Magus. There is a Magus after me.”

 

Tom scoffed, reaching forward and brushing a bit of wet hair from the teen’s face. “There is no Magus, Harry.” He murmured surely. “It was the Unspeakables. They are powerful enough to create a fire like this.”

 

“No,” Harry replied fiercely, turning his eyes away from his home and onto Tom. “I know it was a Magus. He set the house on fire. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop the flames. I couldn’t get rid of them.” The boy broke off, his lips quivering.

 

“There is no Magus,” Tom replied just as harshly. Harry was already a hidden Gem, one that was too rare for present day. There was no way in hell there could be another Magus in existence. The chances of that happening were slim to none. Two Magi in the same generation… it just never happened. “Now,” he began again, softer, changing the subject. “Are you hurt?”

 

Dull eyes turned to him. “No,” the boy whispered again, turning back to his home. Tom resisted a sigh. Surely the home held many sentimental values to the young man and Tom had to respect that. He was just uncertain of how to approach healing these emotional wounds. Tom wasn’t very skilled in the emotional healing, especially when he found it difficult to be so gentle.

 

“Harry,” Tom tisked. “Let me see what you’re hiding.” He moved closer, his body all but sheltering Harry from the view of the burning home. Leaning forward, he reached to grab Harry’s elbow, pulling the arm from out of the water.

 

As he surveyed the damaged hand, he let out a breath he had been holding. It was exceedingly injured. The skin was absent from the hand, revealing the destroyed muscle and a few fingers even showed bone. Harry made a pained noise in his throat as he tried to pull away from Tom. But Tom held on, studying the hand in depth. He tried to see how far the nerve and muscle damage was. He was decent at healing wounds and fractures… but burns were another story. The fingers were twitching uncontrollably and it looked as if the uncontrolled jerks were painful to Harry.

 

“We need to get you healed.” Tom saw the dark emotions swirling in Harry’s eyes. With a confident lunge, he cradled the boy’s head in his free hand while he clutched the boy’s elbow with his other. “Harry, the house served its purpose. You have the memories here,” he moved his hand over the boy’s heart, patting the chest strongly. “Just because the house is gone, doesn’t mean your memories have to crumble with it. Just take this attack as another personal vendetta. You will get your revenge.”

 

The green eyes became focused once again and Harry blinked, nodding. “You’re right,” he mused. “This was a personal attack.”  If possible, the boy’s eyes hardened a bit more, revealing his pain and determination.

 

Tom nodded, his eyes raking over Harry’s form for anymore surprise wounds. “I’d hate to inform you of our plans to stay with the Malfoys.”

 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Harry tried to pull away, but Tom overpowered the small body and continued to check the boy for wounds. “There is no more damage, really. My hand just hurts, a lot.” Tom could see Harry’s pained creased face as he tried not to let it show.

 

“Come on then.” He assisted Harry into a standing position, acting as a crutch for the lithe body. Tom eyed the burning house over Harry’s head and pursed his lips. There were a few tomes and artifacts he had inside, but he believed he had read enough on the Magi to understand them better. Salazar’s portrait was another matter. He wasn’t at all worried. Slytherin had a few other frames around the wizarding world where the man could travel freely.

 

Tom just hoped he wouldn’t lose Harry’s sanity over this.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry stood to the side in the dark corridor. They had just apparated to the Malfoy manor and Tom had disappeared inside a closed off room. From what Harry gathered, there was a meeting that had just finished inside. The same meeting Tom had just left from. The Dark Lord’s followers were within that room. Harry didn’t understand why Tom was distancing him from his followers. After all, wasn’t Harry part of the group now as well?

 

He leaned against the wall, his eyes half lidded. The pain was unbearable and blood from his tongue flooded his mouth as a result of his anxious biting. It was all he could do to keep from crying out. His hand felt exposed, and it was stinging and burning crazily. Every time he accidentally brushed it against his side, or twitched his fingers, a painful ache shot up his arm, making his vision blurry.

 

Nothing had ever hurt this bad before. Harry was too afraid to look at the appendage. He knew a bit of muscle and bone shown through, but he refused to look any further, not when he had the pain to try to block out.

 

He shuddered, his teeth clashing together. A fever had already staked claim on him, making it difficult for him to think coherently. A few minutes ago, Tom had entered the room to get one of his followers who happened to be a Healer. 

 

“Is this him? He doesn’t look like much.” A gruff voice asked through Harry’s pain-filled mind.

 

He struggled to get his mind together and stand straight as a tall form stood before him. To his immediate right, he spotted Lucius Malfoy approaching behind Tom Riddle. They were all peering down at him, their mouths in serious lines. Harry parted his lips and gave a strangled giggle.

 

Tom’s lips pursed and he took Harry by the shoulders, his arm strong around his shoulder and waist. “Let me see the hand,” the unknown man grumbled. Harry could distinctively see the tuffy white hair and the long beard. He looked kind of like a muscular and younger Dumbledore.

 

Harry felt Tom lift his arm, revealing his throbbing hand to the strange man. “Third degree, most definitely.” The Healer bent his neck, examining Harry’s hand. “The boy probably has an infection by now… a fever to boot.”

 

“I have their rooms prepared for them,” Lucius’ voice sounded distant to Harry.

 

Rather numbly, Harry walked down the corridors, trusting Tom’s arms around him as guidance. They came upon the stairs and Harry hesitated on the landing, blinking and trying to stop the racing world.

 

“Come now, I got you.”

 

And Harry was picked up.

 

He took an intake of surprised air and slumped lazily in Riddle’s arms. If Harry had been coherent, he would have seen Lucius’ surprised expression at Tom’s back. “I could walk,” Harry slurred in a lame protest. “I _can_ walk.” Even as he said this, they made more distance than they had when Harry was shuffling on his feet.

 

“It’s just a bit further, no big deal, Potter.” Tom grunted; his arms steel bands around Harry’s body as they continued down the steps.

 

Harry tried to bring himself back to the world, but found he was much too comfortable in the protecting arms and the cooling atmosphere. They must have been entering the lower levels of the Malfoy manor. The cold temperature cooled his burning hand and forehead.

 

It seemed like only seconds until he was out of Tom’s arms and stretched out on a cool bed. “Give him a blanket-,”

 

“No, no blanket is good.” Harry mumbled. “Cold feels good.” Dimly, he was aware of a liquid being poured into a stone basin. His eyes were fluttering closed and his vision grew darker and darker. The three tall candles that were lit were now extinguishing in his eyes. Harry knew the three men in his room, but he couldn’t see any of their features, only their dark silhouettes.

 

“We need to cleanse the bacteria and kill off the infection.” The Healer instructed, setting down a heavy object near Harry.

 

Crimson eyes broke through the haze and they blinked down at him in concern. “Shouldn’t we knock him unconscious first-,”

 

Harry’s arm was taken rather harshly and his hand was dunk inside a liquid filled basin. He blinked once at the cold sensation and then his stomach lurched at the severe burning. A scream escaped his mouth and he blacked out.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

The first conscious thought was that his hand hardly hurt.

 

Harry grunted, blinking open his eyes. There was no sunlight coming through, but that could be because there weren’t any windows. A few floating lights were on, giving the illusion of daylight. Tom Riddle was sitting in an arm chair next to Harry’s bed, his eyes half-lidded.

 

“Can you sleep with your eyes open?” Harry mused quietly, lifting an eyebrow at the slit crimson eyes. He expected Tom to remain frozen and not respond to his question. The man really looked as if he were sleeping.

 

Instead, Tom’s lips quirked into a smirk. “I doubt it could be very satisfying.” The man craned his neck to the side, an audible crack filling the room. “How is your hand feeling?”

 

Green eyes danced away from the stretching Dark Lord and onto the bandaged hand. Thick gauze wrapped from the fingertips to the middle of his wrist. It felt better, yet it still stung and Harry couldn’t move his fingers. Cold sweat broke at the nape of his neck and he looked up at Tom with barely hidden terror. “I can’t move my fingers.”

 

The man looked tired.

 

Harry watched as Riddle sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair. “Cormac suspected that would happen.” Crimson eyes met with his worried ones. “You were running a high fever all night, Harry. The Healer I brought with me, Cormac, was having trouble trying to stabilize you. You had a very deep infection, one that was stubborn and refused to calm. I’m afraid that your hand may, perhaps, be unworkable for the rest of your life.”

 

Harry sat there, staring unseeingly at the poised man.

 

“Of course, there is always the chance you’ll get the feeling back in your hand, but it will take some time. Cormac had to grow some skin on your hand after he healed the muscle and nerves. You won’t have any scarring, but your hand may appear paler than the rest of your body, pinker.”

 

Torpidly, Harry stared down at his bandaged and useless hand. It was his wand hand and before he felt self-pity, he surprisingly felt determination. He knew any earlier time, he would be complaining, perhaps whining. True, it was a very valuable body part to loose the feeling to, but he remembered the _reason_ why he lost it. He looked up at the man and stated rather coldly, “He was a Magus. And I could tell he was older.”

 

Harry remembered his burning house and surprisingly didn’t feel too torn up over it. Last night, all he could remember was Tom heatedly touching him over his heart and telling him the memories were within, not the house itself. Those words couldn’t be truer.

 

Last night had been _full_ of vivid flashes of Tom. Harry tried to understand why he remembered the way the Dark Lord carried him tenderly and looked down at him with concern. Out of the whole night, Tom had been the clearest, the most vibrant.

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably at that, wondering when _Tom Riddle_ had become such a commanding presence in his life. Perhaps it was somewhere around the time Dumbledore turned his shoulder on him or the time Harry found out that his parents were murdered by his Ministry. There were many shocking and life-altering events that Tom was there for. And each one, the man had comforted Harry as best as he could.

 

Pushing those thoughts away, he looked up at the crimson-eyed man. Judging from the dark circles under the man’s eyes, Harry gathered Tom had been at his bedside all night. It made him uncomfortable and touched at the same time.

 

“Harry,” Riddle shook his head. “There is no other Magus out there. Please, try to understand-,”

 

“It was a fucking Magus, Tom.” Harry snapped, clenching his teeth in frustration. “Why are you so against another Magus? It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”

 

Tom stood up, his height and thin stature making him tower. “You need some fresh air and breakfast, Harry. Out on the patio, we can discuss Magi.”

 

Harry sighed, knowing this argument wouldn’t go over easy. They were both stubborn, both unmovable on their opinions. Nonetheless, he struggled out from under his sheets, and placed his bare feet on the cold tile floor. “Where are we anyway? Somewhere in the lower level of the Malfoy manor?”

 

Tom had his hand out, ready to assist Harry if necessary. Harry flashed him a filthy glance, glad to see that Tom backed up. Still, his body was tense, ready to lunge if Harry had trouble gaining balance. “You’re correct. Lucius has a lower level to his manor. This was my last resort, but it’s necessary. Both the Ministry and the Unspeakables are on our tail. If the Potter manor was attacked so easily, I’m afraid they’d find us anywhere.”

 

Harry breathed deeply, getting his racing vision under control. He felt a lot better from last night, albeit his hand. “Dumbledore was the only one living who knew of that house,” he replied quietly. “He betrayed me again.”

 

A cloak landed on his shoulders and Harry turned to see Tom grinning, his crimson eyes alight. “Does that really surprise you now, Harry? You’re his enemy, its natural he would feel threatened by you and I.”

 

Harry turned back around, unable to meet Tom’s glance. “You look too smug for your own good.” It was times like these in which Harry felt as if he were being played. Tom couldn’t help it, Harry knew, but the man always gave off that air of deceit. He just looked too Slytherin for Harry’s liking. Well… that could be because Tom _was_ the Slytherin heir.

 

“Why shouldn’t I be smug?” was Tom’s retort. He confidently led Harry out the room and down the long stone corridor. “Dumbledore has turned his nose long ago to what the Ministry is doing. He wants peace and he wants order. He only believes the Unspeakables are doing what they are for the greater good. He will not see it as unjust.”

 

Tugging on Tom’s cloak around his shoulders, Harry walked up the stairs, his mind buzzing. It did hurt that Dumbledore betrayed him so harshly. The man _knew_ how much his dead parents meant to him, especially that summer home. Yet, Dumbledore sent someone there to destroy it. Whoever was the one to light the fire last night, hadn’t intended to kill him. Harry was more than certain the man could have killed him. Easily.

 

And that bothered him the most.

 

As Tom and he reached the landing of the main floor, after many levels of climbing the stairs, they were greeted by Narcissa Malfoy. She was arranging a vase of flowers, her eyes averting over to them as if she was surprised. Harry gathered she had been hovering near this area all morning, waiting for her Lord to make an appearance. Harry had only seen Narcissa Malfoy once before and that was when her expression rivaled something vile. But in her home, her face was relaxed, actually looking halfway decent.

 

“Narcissa,” Tom greeted with a sharp nod. He placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, ushering him forward. “I’m sure you know Harry Potter.”

 

Her painted lips hitched upward in a sly smile. “Of course,” she glided over and extended her hand. “It’s nice to formally meet you, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry made a move to shake her hand and stopped short when he felt the weight of his bandages. He struggled with his lack of hand for just a moment before he grasped her knuckles with his left hand and kissed the back of her palm. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for your generous hospitality.”

 

She smiled warmly after he dropped her hand. Her dark eyes danced across Harry’s face in a searching manner. “It’s the least I could do,” she replied cheerfully. Turning to an amused Tom Riddle, she cocked her head just slightly. “Would you like to be served breakfast, My Lord?”

 

“On the patio if it is convenient, Narcissa. Thank you.” Tom’s hand tightened on his shoulder as his led them away and toward the back patio. “It surprises me, Harry, that you actually have _manners_.”

 

“Isn’t it a shock?” Harry flashed the man a look. “I can be polite when I want to. I find it hard to use manners when I’m forced.” He still harbored sour feelings toward Tom for telling Lucius to teach him manners. “But don’t mistake me for a stuck up Pure-blood who needs to have a stick up his arse.”

 

“You have my word I won’t give you any more etiquette manners,” Tom mused as they stepped out into the cool morning. “Now sit and eat.”

 

It shouldn’t have surprised Harry that there was already food laid out on the table. Fruit, pancakes, sausage, and the likes were all available. “Don’t ridicule me about my ungraceful eating today.” Harry grumbled, using his left hand awkwardly. His right hand hung usually at his side. He couldn’t even feel it, despite a dull pain. Even if he couldn’t move it on will, _feeling something_ was better than feeling nothing at all. Wasn’t it?

 

Sitting in the bright morning lowered Harry’s anxiety. He closed his eyes briefly as a gentle wind stirred his hair and tickled his skin. Fresh air was something he could never live without. Cracking his eyes open, he stared at the gardens surrounding them. They were luxurious, of course. The smell of bloomed flowers sweetened the air and the song of the birds welcomed the risen sun. Further in the distance, Harry spotted a Quidditch pitch.

 

Desire and longing were the emotions that accompanied seeing the pitch. He truly loved Quidditch and missed the sport. Now, he was more than aware that he would never be the same player he was. Not when he only had one hand.

 

“You can go flying today,” Tom tried to lighten the mood.

 

Harry turned to look at his companion. Tom leaned his chin on his open palm, gazing across at Harry. The man’s face was tranquil, almost peaceful. It was the face underneath that Slytherin mask. Harry found himself speechless for just a moment, utterly flabbergasted seeing this side of Tom.

 

“I…” he stuttered. “I never thanked you.” 

 

Tom raised an eyebrow; the grin that stretched his lips was a true half smile- not a smirk. “For what?” Tom drawled quietly.

 

“For opening my eyes. You could have just let me alone, making me oblivious to the true story behind James, Lily, and Sirius’ death. Instead, you’ve sacrificed a lot in order to tell me the truth, to show me that truth.”

 

The man remained silent until he straightened up and looked down at his plate. “You’ve matured considerably in a matter of weeks, Harry. I would think that impossible, but under these circumstances, I understand how you can mature so quickly. I still remember that impudent little boy in my classroom, talking with Weasley and not paying _attention_.”

 

Harry grinned goofily, stabbing the sausage and missing his mark again. “I always had trouble in school. I couldn’t concentrate.”

 

Tom nodded. “It’s very understandable. Magi don’t do well with learning spells and potions alike. They have a little attention span.”

 

“You tell me this _now_?”

 

Crimson eyes looked up at him. “We were learning meditation and control the first two weeks of our lessons, Harry. Now I will tell you _about_ the Magus itself. Would you like to hear more? Or do you need to concentrate fully on spearing your sausage with your fork?”

 

Harry growled, narrowing his eyes at the man as he stabbed the meat successfully. It was his left hand. He had an excuse.

 

“Magus, or Magi for plural, are magical creatures. Old folklore tales speak or Magi as the purest of magics- in its physical form. _You_ are magic, Harry. Just in human shape. Before the time of Merlin, Magi were rather well known. It wasn’t surprising to come across a Magus. But they became extinct. Or so… everyone thought. There have been cases, like you and Merlin that have sprung from no where. Your parents weren’t Magi but your ancestors were, perhaps Magi. The Magus gene could have been submissive in them and became dominant in you.” Tom paused, cutting his omelet. His voice was steady and professor-like.

 

“What happened to the Magi before Merlin?” Harry asked, curious. “If they are so powerful, how did they wipe out of existence?”

 

Tom chuckled darkly. “Simple, really. They killed each other.”

 

Harry blinked, feeling a dread in his stomach. “Could there be more Magi out there? I mean, if they realize how rare and extinct they are, wouldn’t they try to hide it? Keep to themselves?”

 

“It’s possible,” Tom admitted. “You almost got under my radar and you did well enough acting normally. Or as normal as you can be. But Magi need to use their magic. It’ll kill them if they don’t use magic.”

 

“Tell me more about them,” Harry leaned forward, interested. “There must be limitations on our magic, correct?”

 

“You can’t destroy the world as you originally thought,” Tom grinned, looking up at Harry. “Your specialty is being able to cast anything you can imagine without the use of a spell. You don’t need to know spells or what their affects are. Instead, you can _imagine._ And that is your power. Of course, even if you have a large amount of magic inside you, Harry, that doesn’t mean you can’t become tired or weakened by the amount of magic you use. You’ve experience drain before, haven’t you?”

 

Harry nodded, abandoning his breakfast in favor of learning.

 

“Magi need a conductor. Merlin had a staff and you have a wand. You don’t become as tired when you use your conductor. Naturally, you can cast magic wandlessly, but your level of fatigue heightens.”

 

“So I become tired easily with the more magic I cast?”

 

“Basically,” Tom gave a curt nod. “The more power you put into your magic, the more tired you become. If you’d like to knock your enemy unconscious, that won’t take any fatigue on your behalf. On the other hand, if you wish to move a city or village with your magic, that will probably bring you to your knees. And the same thing goes for destroying the world. You can try to kill every human or Muggle on this world, but you would most likely kill yourself in the process. Killing takes more out of you than stunning, especially larger crowds.”

 

Harry deflated his lips deepening into a grimace. “We don’t sound very impressive anymore. We get tired easily.”

 

“Quite the contrary, my Gem.” Tom purred and Harry looked up at the man, blinking. Did he just say-… “You are a very powerful wizard. And you misjudge your strength. You can kill large crowds, Harry. You just can’t kill towns upon towns in one blow.”

 

It still didn’t sound too impressing.

 

Tom tisked disapprovingly. “Look at you,” the man laughed. “Every man would be envious of you. You have magic unheard of. You just need to believe in yourself and have a little… imagination.” The man drawled darkly, his crimson eyes sparkling.

 

The man was right. Merlin, when _wasn’t_ Tom right? Having this power had saved Harry’s life on more than one occasion. It also comforted Harry to know that he wasn’t _born_ dumb. All Magi had trouble with learning and remembering spells. He wasn’t alone in this.

 

Before he could ask about the other Magus in his home from the night before, a throat cleared in the doorway to the patio.

 

Harry turned, catching glimpse of Lucius Malfoy. The man looked grim as he pulled at his glove. “Could I speak to you privately, My Lord?”

 

Tom glimpsed at Harry before turning coolly back at the tall blonde. “You may speak here freely, Lucius.”

 

Feeling a big smug, Harry turned to Lucius expectantly, waiting for the blonde to speak.

 

“Rookwood was found dead, My Lord. The Unspeakables discovered he was not loyal.” 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

“Rookwood?” Tom repeated. To Harry, the man sounded almost… flabbergasted. “Is dead?”

 

“Yes, My Lord,” Lucius replied hesitantly, his eyes flashing toward Harry’s sitting form before turning back to his Lord. “His wife discovered his body on their doorstep. She owled me, telling me it was urgent. She didn’t know what else to do.” 

 

Harry looked away from the aristocrat and studied the Dark Lord’s closed expression. The man was obviously reeling at the loss of his Unspeakable spy. After all, Unspeakables were loyal to the Ministry, almost insanely so. It would be impossible to catch another pair of eyes within the Unspeakable labs. “They knew,” Harry muttered. Crimson eyes looked across the table at Harry. “They knew we were in France. And they knew they had a spy within their ranks. Somehow, they found out it was Rookwood.”

 

Tom remained silent, his eyes far away. Lucius remained standing in the doorway to the patio, watching the two dark-haired wizards before him.

 

“They probably relocated the labs again, Tom,” Harry started, fretting. He missed Lucius’ raised eyebrows at Harry addressing the Dark Lord by his first name.

 

“They probably have, yes,” Tom nodded once.

 

“But… Remus Lupin… I need to get him out. I was so close yesterday. _So_ close.” Imagining being just inches away from the werewolf made him nauseous. Because he knew, most certainly, that the Unspeakables had moved their labs once again.

 

“In war, Harry, it is necessary to sacrifices things, to sacrifice people.”

 

Green eyes flashed. “I have already sacrificed _enough,_ Tom. My parents, my godfather, my trust… I don’t want to sacrifice the only person who could bring back a bit of my parents. He needs me. My parents died in attempt to save him.”

 

Tom gazed at him darkly, leaning his straight back against the chair. His long tapered fingers caressed the edge of the table. Harry refused to back away from his stare. “What do you expect me to do, Harry?” The man all but purred darkly. “I have no spy. We do not know where the labs are now. And you are not ready to engage in battle.”

 

Harry closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Who gets to determine if I’m ready? You or I?” He asked sharply, trying to rein in his temper. He was ready. And damn Tom Riddle if he thought he wasn’t.

 

“We will discuss this later,” the man hissed.

 

“Just like we will discuss the other Magi?” Harry shot back, opening his eyes. The Dark Lord was standing at attention, ready to speak to Lucius until Harry opened his mouth. The Lord turned his head slowly, the expression on his face spelling out his silent rage. Harry kept his chin up, challenging the red gaze.

 

“Another Magus?” Lucius Malfoy breathed. Riddle kept his slit-eyes on Harry, not amused. “Say it isn’t so, My Lord. _Two_ Magi?”

 

Harry turned away from Tom’s raged filled face and onto Lucius. “Yes. He—,” a cold hand grabbed his jaw, squeezing. Harry’s face was forcibly turned to Tom. The man was bending at his waist, his own face thrust into the Gryffindor’s.

 

“I said we will discuss things later. _Hush_.” With one last warning stare, Tom let Harry’s jaw go. “I will accompany you to Rookwood’s house, Lucius. From there on I will call a meeting. The Ministry is getting offensive. We need to show them we aren’t threatened.”

 

Harry stood up, watching as the two men turned to leave. “Don’t I get to come?” He felt like a small boy, asking his father for permission to accompany him. “I could meet your followers—,”

 

“You will stay here.” Crimson eyes raked the length of his body before turning around. The taller Dark Lord led Lucius inside. Just as they were about to shut the door, Harry gave a hiss.

 

He saw read as he looked at the man. “You can’t keep me here, wrapped in bloody cotton, Riddle. You’re a fucking, conniving bastard.” The man had just been decent earlier during breakfast as they discussed a conversation maturely. In fact, they had been hitting it off for a good while now. Harry had started to take a liking to the man, relying on him for comfort when things went wrong. But Riddle couldn’t keep saying _no_ , especially when Harry was supposed to be considered a ‘very powerful wizard’.

 

What good was he when he always had to stay behind?

 

Lucius’ face paled over Tom’s shoulder. “Stay put, My Gem,” Tom murmured, seemingly unfazed with Harry’s temper.

 

The man then shut the door, turning and leaving.

 

Harry sat down on the chair, breathing heavily. His fingers clenched into fists and before he knew it, he was in intense pain. He had attempted to move both his fingers, and surprisingly enough, his right hand twitched just a bit, sending searing pain up his shoulder.

 

“Bloody fuck,” he whispered, tears in his eyes at the pain. How could he forget, so quickly, that his hand was paralyzed? Burned? Forever dead?

 

But if his fingers had twitched, did that mean his hand was really paralyzed? For a moment, he considered trying to heal it with his magic, then thought against it. He didn’t know how to attempt to heal it and quite frankly, his headache was already growing. His body still hadn’t healed from yesterday’s fever and magical exhaustion.

 

Standing up, he abandoned his breakfast and entered the Malfoy manor. From what he could see, both Lucius and Tom were already gone. Hopefully they would struggle. They, especially Tom, deserved it for being utter bastards.

 

“You’re not looking too happy,” a male voice murmured, amused. Harry stiffened, turning around the corridor, meeting no one. “Over here, boy.”

 

Harry caught sight of a moving portrait on the wall. It was an old frame and dusty as if the House Elves stayed away from it. Inside, a man with brilliant green eyes and long grey hair sat. He looked like a powerful and malicious old monkey. Harry vaguely recalled seeing someone like this…

 

“Slytherin?” Harry took a hesitant guess. It would make sense. After all, he _was_ in Malfoy’s manor.

 

“That’s me,” the green eyes studied him. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. Tom has other ideas, of course.”

 

“Tom?” Harry raised an eyebrow, walking closer to the portrait. It was alone on the wall. No other frames surrounded it. It was kind of uncanny, having a dusty frame, hanging by its lonesome in a dark corridor. “How do you know Tom?” Harry paused for just a second. “I know he’s your heir and all… but…”

 

Slytherin cocked a smirk, looking almost similar to Tom. “I am given to all my descendants in portrait form.” Salazar looked down thoughtfully at Harry. “You’re related to Tom. I can see it in your eyes. The two of you are very similar. And… should I dare say you can speak to snakes?”

 

Harry blanched, taking a step backward. “I’m not, related to _him_. And I can’t talk to snakes.” A bit of sweat broke out on his neck and he tried to act confident in the eyes of Salazar. How did portraits know so much? _How_?

 

Salazar tipped back his head and laughed. “You can’t fool a Parseltongue, Harry. We know our kind. I’m surprised Tom hasn’t seen it yet.”

 

“I can’t talk to snakes,” Harry hissed, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean you _can’t_. I won’t tell Tom, Mr. Potter. Your secret is safe with me.” Somehow, Harry didn’t believe the acidic green eyes staring down at him. “It’s just surprising how similar you are to the Slytherin line. Although, you do have a bit of Gryffindor in you.” Salazar replied distastefully. 

 

“You don’t even know me.” Harry pointed out.

 

“Maybe not,” Salazar conceded. “But I can see through you. You’re related to Tom, to me, very distantly. Although Tom is a direct heir, you are a descendant. I believe Ignotus Peverell and Cadmus Peverell were brothers and you and Tom descended from them. Genius how such Slytherin characteristics can remain hidden for many generations. It prides me to know a Magus, such as yourself, has inherited the gift of snake tongue.”

 

Harry stiffened, not liking to be compared to either Slytherin or Tom. “I can’t speak snakes,” he lied. He had kept it a secret from everyone, even Ron and Hermione, even Sirius and his parents. No one knew, because he had been scared to speak of it.

 

“No matter,” Salazar shrugged off Harry’s denial. They both knew the truth. “It amazes me that Tom was able to tame you, a Magus of your strength.”

 

“Tame me?” Harry questioned, his eyes narrowing. He remembered how he confronted Dumbledore that day, in his office. The man had treated Harry like some sort of wild beast. It had hurt Harry considerably. And Salazar was no different. “Tom Riddle cannot _tame_ me. I’m on no one’s leash.”

 

Salazar gave a small nod, yet his eyes said another light. Harry knew the man wouldn’t agree with him, only because he believed Harry was meant to be tamed. He stared up at the emotionless man. Salazar was a powerful figure, one that even Harry wanted to respect. The man spoke from pure wisdom. His voice was that of an experienced and very dangerous man. Even if this was just a portrait, Harry was still aware of the fact that Salazar was a powerful wizard. Very similar to Tom.

 

But there was also that pure arrogance and smugness.

 

“Perhaps you are not on his leash, but if you’d like to admit it or not, you are tamed. How else would you agree to help rid the wizarding world of Muggles and restrict the muggle-borns?”

 

Harry froze, feeling a deep dread drop in the pit of his stomach. “Excuse me?” He asked hoarsely. “I thought Tom’s ideals were to stop the Ministry and create coexistence between Light and Dark wizards and to have the Light wizards accept Dark magic.”

 

Salazar looked at Harry suspiciously. “That’s only half of it. There must be—,”

 

Harry didn’t stick around for more.

 

He turned his heel, all but running from the man. He wouldn’t cry, simply because he’s had it happen before. Adults. He couldn’t trust any of them. He had thought that Tom Riddle was different. That the man could teach him to trust again. But where had that gotten him? No where. He was completely lost and he didn’t know where to go, who to turn to.

 

“Harry!” Narcissa yelled after him. “Where are you going?”

 

Harry could hear the woman’s heels slap against the tiled floor as she hurried after him. “Don’t follow me,” Harry threatened. “I’ve had enough.” Rather surprisingly, the blond woman stopped walking after him. Her heels were silent against the marble tiles and all that was heard was Harry’s labored breathing.

 

He knew the woman would get the brunt of Tom Riddle’s fury. But at the moment, Harry couldn’t care a less. Right now, he felt betrayed. Again. It wasn’t a new sensation, not when he experienced it first from his government and then Dumbledore. Some reason, he always thought Riddle was too good to be true. There was no way a Dark Lord could be so logical. There had to be something there, in his ethics, that separated him from others. And even though Riddle confessed that he enjoyed killing and torturing, Harry found out his other guilty pleasure.

 

Getting rid of Muggles and muggle-borns.

**\--CBS--**

 

Tom knew something was off as soon as he stepped inside the Malfoy manor.

 

He had just come from observing Rookwood’s body. All the while, his mind was on Harry. The boy had wanted to come. It was a simple request, but Tom denied him the chance. He didn’t want anymore harm to come to the boy and a raid was a good opportunity to attract unwanted attention. The wizarding world hadn’t heard of the Death Eaters for quite some time. It was due time to announce their presence once again, especially when the Ministry was acting offensively.

 

After Tom had thought long enough on Harry’s plead, he silently agreed to allow Harry to accompany him. After ordering Lucius to stay put at the Rookwood manor, Tom had disapparated to the Malfoy manor to gather the Magus.

 

Only, a nervous Narcissa met him at the door.

 

“What is it?” He asked coldly, eyeing the blond woman unpleasantly. 

 

“I didn’t try to stop him,” Narcissa admitted. Her tone was strong and unwavering, yet her eyes were cautious as she gazed at Tom. “It’s his life. I don’t wish to cage a child.”

 

Raising his eyebrows, Tom tried to control his rage. “He is _no_ child.” He hissed, feeling a cord tug within him. Harry was no child. “He hasn’t been a child since the day he found out his parents and godfather was killed by the very same people he idolized.” Tom had marveled at how fast Harry Potter had matured. It couldn’t have been healthy for a seventeen year old boy to mature so quickly, with so many betrayals and scars. However, they were going through hard times and Tom wasn’t one to cherish childhood.

 

Despite his pride and impressed nature regarding Harry’s maturity, he was disappointed the boy would run away just because Tom wouldn’t allow him to accompany him on his raid. It was immature. It was a step back.

 

“He’s still only seventeen, a mere child.” Narcissa continued to argue. Her blue eyes were bright, appearing shades lighter. 

 

“When did he leave?” Tom demanded, changing the spoken subject. He wasn’t going to argue with her maternal instincts, and quite frankly, he wasn’t in the mood. Harry was _his_ Magus, his Gem, not hers. She had no right.

 

“He left just a few minutes ago,” a new voice intervened.

 

Turning, Tom narrowed his stare on Salazar. The founder was invading a Malfoy portrait, his acidic green eyes surveying Tom.

 

The Dark Lord felt his temper rise, his fury… it was difficult to control, but he managed to stay calm. His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to the portrait. “What did you tell him?” It made sense now. Harry didn’t run because he couldn’t accompany Tom to the raid, he ran because of Salazar. “I told you to stay away from him.”

 

“You cannot be so protective of him, Tom.” Salazar scolded lightly. “I only told him the truth.”

 

His fist arched forward before slamming into the portrait, almost dislodging it from the wall. He hissed between his teeth as his crimson eyes brightened. “What did you _tell_ him?” Subconsciously, he was aware of Narcissa backing away from him, her hand around her throat defensively. “If you weren’t a damned portrait, I would have you out cold by now.”

 

Salazar wasn’t intimidated or impressed. “I simply told him of your plans to destroy the Muggle taint from our world. I was surprised he didn’t know.”

 

Tom gave a short scream of rage. His fingers curled around the picture frame; throwing the portrait off the wall, watching as it clattered to the ground— face down. He spun his heel and jogged from the manor.

 

Why must things always go against him? He had the boy in his fist. But no matter how much he wanted to complain about Harry’s lost companion ship, about how he was losing a prized possession, he was more worried about losing Harry’s trust. His Gem’s trust was the most important thing he held. And at the moment, Harry was thinking Tom had betrayed him, something that didn’t sit well with him. 

 

He needed to find the boy and explain before it was too late.

 

And there was one more place Harry could go to feel a flicker of hope.

 

**\--CBS--**

The rain was pouring down hard. Harry couldn’t care a less.

 

Across from him sat the Weasley home. A few lights were lit, but not as much as normal. After all, Harry knew Ron and Ginny were off at Hogwarts. In fact, he was sure that only Molly and Arthur were the ones left in the house. Alone.

 

Wet black hair fell in his eyes as he stared longingly into the house. What were their views on the war? Did they even _know_ a war was approaching? Did anyone know?

 

“Give me one good reason…” Harry mumbled passed the rain in his mouth. “Why I shouldn’t kill you? Why do you think you even have the right to come to me again?” He could hear the trampling weeds behind him and he felt the overwhelming presence of Riddle’s aura.

 

His fingers curled uncomfortably around his wand. His left hand wasn’t used to holding his wand. Harry was sure it would take time and practice to cast magic efficiently like he had done with his right hand. But he was confident knowing he could attack Riddle if necessary. It bothered Harry that Riddle knew him so well. How did the man _know_ Harry would be here? Standing outside the perimeter to the Weasley home?

 

“I’d like for you to give me a moment to explain Salazar’s motives.”

 

“Don’t you mean _your_ true motives behind the war, Tom?” Harry asked bitterly. He still had yet to turn around and look at the man. He didn’t want to see the handsome face and grow soft. It seemed as if Tom had that affect on him, even when Harry promised himself not to end up like everyone else in the face of Tom’s charm.

 

The option of cursing Tom was strong on his mind, but he was just so _tired_ of it all. He was tired of being played. And he was tired of looking for someplace to go to feel welcomed. Harry had found that place with Tom Riddle… but…

 

“I was an orphan. My mother was a weak witch who manipulated my Muggle father to fall in love with her by giving him the love potion, Amortentia. After conceiving me, she stopped using the love potion on my father, thinking he would stay with her— a pregnant woman, carrying his son. He left her as soon as he was out of Amortentia’s thrall.”

 

The words were so blunt and bitter, Harry had to turn around. He stared at Tom wide-eyed. The man was never known for opening up about personal subjects and Harry had a feeling that Tom rarely told this story to anyone. The man’s mouth was twisted into a grimace and sneer and his crimson eyes were hard. Standing in the rain, the taller wizard’s hair was just as pasted to his forehead and face as Harry’s.

 

“After my father abandoned my mother, she gave birth to me at an orphanage. Despite having me, a vulnerable baby who would cherish his mother, she chose not to live. She died, leaving me to a Muggle orphanage. The children there noticed something different about me and constantly teased and ridiculed me. It was my personal hell there, Harry. I was scarred and I turned cold. My Muggle father didn’t even come looking for me. I killed my father and my grandparents when I turned sixteen.”

 

Harry stood there, unable to say anything. But what was there to say when Tom finally opened up and revealed a story Harry wasn’t prepared for?

 

“I despise Muggles. And Salazar knows that. He told you a part of my plans that would come to pass after I gained power over the wizarding world. I want to cut the Muggle world out from the wizarding world. I want to find those muggle-born witches and wizards when they’re young and bring them into the wizarding world instead of waiting until they are eleven. I want them to know this world just as well as the next pure-blood.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Harry whispered. It could have saved them a lot of trouble if Tom had confessed his plans.

 

“Because I didn’t want to tell you about my past. None of my followers know of my history, no one but you.”

 

Harry blinked, staring up at Riddle before throwing himself at the man.

 

He was revealed. Even if he knew he looked foolish and pathetic, hugging the man, he didn’t care. Earlier, when Salazar shared the bit of information involving the Muggles and Tom’s plans, Harry had been devastated and torn. He thought he had finally found his place, with Tom. But the betrayal was there and Harry had been lost again.

 

Now though… he understood exactly where Tom was coming from.

 

“I’m sorry about your upbringing.” Harry murmured into the man’s wet robes. “No child should have to grow up in an environment of hate. And I understand your reasoning for wanting to pull wizarding children away from Muggles.”

 

The man placed his arms around him, running his fingers down Harry’s back. “You shouldn’t have run.” Tom scolded. “It was foolish of you.” Even if the man was reprimanding him, his tone was light and his fingers gently stroked his hair.

 

Harry realized that this was a turning point in their relationship. Even though he would never fully submit to Tom, he trusted the man now. Tom could have lied about his childhood to easily gain Harry back on his side, yes, that was a possibility. But Harry firmly believed that Tom was telling the truth. Apart from the man’s troubling expression while recounting his past, Harry also had the memories of the time Tom had comforted him candidly. That time on the deck and all the countless of times Harry learned about the labs. The Dark Lord really wasn’t so bad if he could look passed the torturing and the killing and the Slytherin manipulations.

 

In Harry’s life, Tom was his solid figure.

 

And as much as Harry would like to fight against having _the_ Tom Riddle as his guide, he couldn’t think of any other man or woman who could hold a flame to Tom.

 

Tom’s hands went to his face and his fingers clutched at his cheeks in order to bring Harry’s eyes up to meet his own. It was a heated stare, a silence stretching into one that Harry found himself both uncomfortable and thrilled with.

 

“I may be a fool for running,” Harry began, ruining their heated stare. He flashed the man a cocky grin. “But you’re the fool for not bringing me on the raid. You know you would struggle without me.”

 

“You’re a minx,” Tom pushed Harry away, his fingers lingering on the boy’s face longer then they should have. “I have yet to attend my raid.” Crimson eyes raked the length of his body. “I will allow you to accompany me, on two conditions.” Tom waited for Harry’s interruption, but he remained silent. “You will not argue about torturing. This is your first raid and you will see me at my best. I enjoy torturing, especially Ministry related workers and Light wizards who have actively stood against Dark wizards. You will _not_ stand in my way and defend them. Is that clear?”

 

Harry had realized this. Eventually, he would have to witness Tom torture and stand by, not helping. It went against everything he had ever stood for. Yet… Tom was torturing wizards who were too prideful to bend their necks at Dark wizards—wizards who had every right to cast their own magic. It would probably be difficult for Harry not to try to save the men and women, but he understood.

 

“It’s clear,” Harry acknowledged with a tense nod.

 

“And finally,” Tom continued after Harry agreed. “If the Ministry or Unspeakables arrive, I want you to leave without question. You are still healing from your burn infection and I don’t want you to be captured.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Tom placed a long tapered finger over his lips. “You will not argue with me. Or you will go back to the Malfoy manor.”

 

Harry wondered when Tom had taken the parental role in his life.

 

“Yes, _master_ ,” Harry drawled, pushing away the man’s wrist

 

Even if he verbally agreed, who said he really had to leave if it was necessary?

 

Tom eyed him long and hard before giving a tense nod. “If I see you begin to weaken, I will pull your arse right out of the raid.” Tom hooked his elbow around Harry’s arm, leading him away from the Weasley home.

 

Harry didn’t even acknowledge the home.

 

“Will we begin training soon?” Harry asked as they got ready to apparate. “I still don’t see what else you need to train me with. You’ve already helped me with my temper. That was my primary weakness, wasn’t it?”

 

“It was,” the man agreed. “But I still feel as if you need help opening up your core. You need more imagination with your magic. You think you are limited because you grow weak if you cast wandless too much, little do you know you are a force to be reckoned with.”

 

Harry remained silent on the issue, trusting Tom.

 

Merlin… he had come a long way.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

 

“Are you certain you’re ready?” Tom murmured again, straightening Harry’s collar.

 

Harry batted the man’s hands away and glowered at the taller figure. After leaving the Weasley residence, Tom had brought him back to the Malfoy manor. It was here, in the manor, that Tom would introduce Harry to his followers. After which, they would begin their raid when the sun went down. It would be more beneficial, attacking Ministry workers when they were at home, with their families.

 

Tom knew the location to many of the key Ministry workers, especially those who worked directly with the Unspeakable section and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement where the Wizengamot worked.

 

“As I said before, I’m ready,” Harry turned away from the crimson eyes, staring at the door ahead of him.

 

He was told that Tom invited all of them— a few hundred in numbers, but surely not enough to hold against the whole lot of Aurors, Unspeakables, and Dumbledore’s Order. But Harry trusted Tom when the man said he didn’t recruit idiots and below average wizards. He only received the best, the most powerful, and the most knowledgeable. Even if they didn’t have very large numbers, their elite talents had to make up for something, didn’t it?

 

“Your hand…” Tom trailed off, glancing at the wrapped appendage. Harry turned to watch as the Dark Lord dug through his cloak. “I got you something, my Gem.”

 

Harry refused to comment on the man’s pet name. It was the third time he’s heard it come from the Dark Lord’s mouth. Quite frankly, he didn’t really know what he should feel about Riddle’s nickname. Ron, of course, would be laughing his arse off. But Harry remembered Tom telling him he was a rare gem among the wizarding world. Surely the nickname had to correlate with that statement. Right? There was nothing possessive about it…

 

Indisputably.

 

“I was going to give it to you at a later date, but I suppose now is the best time.” The Dark Lord pulled out a beautiful glove. It was black, a leather of some sort. It looked like dragon hide with a beautiful emerald stitching. “I place a protective charm inside, one that should ward off anymore infection and cushion your fragile hand from any outside forces.”

 

Harry stood there dumbly as Tom gently took his right hand. The man started to unwrap the bandages efficiently. By the time his hand showed through, Harry grimaced, staring at the brilliant pink skin. “It looks… vulgar,” he commented, flushing at the way Tom caressed the wrist above the burn. Harry couldn’t feel anything on his hand. “Do you think…” he paused, staring at the new skin that the Healer had graphed on his hand. “Do you think I could heal it with my Magus powers? After all, you said I could essentially imagine anything and it would come to pass.”

 

Split crimson eyes averted from his hand to his face. “You cannot bring something back to life, Harry. No matter if it’s a pet, a human, or nerves. No being is powerful enough to bring something back from the dead, not even a Magus, I’m afraid.”

 

Harry looked away from the man, watching as Riddle continued to place the glove on his hand. It fit perfectly and it looked impressive. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice pitching low in gratitude.

 

Tom grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his palm, on top the new glove. His eyes penetrated straight through Harry, freezing him dumbly in place. “Your hand may not always be paralyzed, Harry. The Healer said you may gain feeling back in your hand.”

 

Harry could have told Tom that he _did_ get bouts of pain from his hand every now and again, but found his mouth too dry to utter a word. Tom’s actions the past few days had been abnormal, even for the Dark Lord. Harry was used to the usual charm surrounding Tom. The man had always had that charisma about him that drew strangers to him like magnets. At school, the female population had always blushed and stuttered around him, dreaming of the day Riddle gave them attention. Even the male population seemed to gravitate toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, wanting his approval and his recognition.

 

And somehow, the Dark Lord always had time for the students who wanted his attention. And the small amount of attention he gave, always seemed to make them crave him even more.

 

Quite simply, it had disgusted Harry in school. His parents had always disproved of Tom Riddle and Sirius had hated the man. As a student, Riddle hadn’t affected him as the rest of the population.

 

But somehow, Tom’s charisma seemed to be affecting him nowadays. Not in abundance, no, but Harry found himself looking upon Tom with a sort of affectionate haze. There was still a bit of defiance Harry could feel in himself whenever he looked at the man, but he found himself idolizing the confidence the man harbored. He also caught himself admiring the sophisticated and sharp features of Tom Riddle.

 

Somehow, he had grown soft to the very same man he vowed not to like.

 

However, it was to be expected. There were plenty of times this past month where Harry could only lean on Tom and only Tom.

 

It hadn’t been easy for Harry to act nicely to the Dark Lord, and he was becoming even more perplexed with Tom’s actions. The way the man always seemed to have an excuse of touching him, the way he purred and hissed softly, and the things the man _said._

 

Harry pulled his hand away, turning away from Tom and toward the door. Perhaps he could just ignore it? Somehow, he doubted the Dark Lord would permit that.

 

The man chuckled, almost if he knew what Harry was thinking. “If you’re ready then,” Tom drawled, reaching over Harry and opening the door. “Follow me.”

 

With a bit of trepidation, Harry entered the room behind Tom Riddle’s tall frame. They were upon a raised platform, not so high that they had to strain their necks to look down at everyone, but high enough to stand above the rest.

 

Every man and woman bowed their head in respect to the Dark Lord, but as soon as Harry was within sight, angry and bemused muttering spread like wildfire. He knew he was just as popular as Tom Riddle himself. Well, relatively, he was well known for being a Quidditch star and the Gryffindor Golden boy who didn’t receive very good grades in school. He felt uncomfortable standing next to Tom. Everyone here was brilliantly smart or incredibly powerful. They made something out of themselves whereas Harry had made nothing of _himself._

 

“Silence,” Tom whispered, easily cutting a knife through the murmuring. He hadn’t raised his voice but he had effectively spread silence amongst the crowd.

 

Harry tried to control his expression, masking his emotions like Tom had taught him. His eyes surveyed the crowed just as coolly as they were surveying him. He found himself surprised when he recognized a good amount of people. There was too many to take note of, but throughout the crowed, he found a few students he had gone to school with and a few adults Sirius and his parents had known.

 

Most of their expressions read repugnance, disappointment, and vehemence. It was obviously clear that they knew of his association with Dumbledore or had heard of his bad habits in school. Even if he stood above them on the raised flooring, he still felt as if they towered over him.

 

The most inviting face in the crowd was the unperturbed Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. The two almost appeared like marble statues, their beauty flawless and cold. Narcissa offered Harry a very minute smile, one that could have been mistaken for nothing more than a smirk.

 

Behind her shoulder stood a man Harry had never thought he would see again. Severus Snape, the resident potions master at Hogwarts. The man flashed Harry a deep sneer, one that cooled his eyes into that of dislike.

 

Before Harry could consider the man’s presence, away from Dumbledore, Tom’s hand landed on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“As some of you already know, I have invited Harry Potter into my ranks.” Even if no one dared to speak out of respect to the Dark Lord, their gazes were anything but silent. “I consider him one of my most valued allies.”

 

Allies. Harry noted the man did not say ‘follower’ and his respect for the man heightened.

 

“Is he a spy for Dumbledore and the Ministry, My Lord?” A respected voice called out softly from the crowd.

 

“No,” Tom scolded, his eyes narrowing toward the woman who had spoken out. “We already have a decent spy in that regard, Mungade.” That was news to Harry. His eyes went to Snape briefly only to look away when the man offered him another malicious sneer. “I’m sure many of you have read in the papers that Harry Potter is wanted by the Ministry. To them, he is an enemy, a criminal wanted for questioning. What they haven’t told you is _why_ they require his arrest.”

 

The hand on Harry’s shoulder squeezed reassuringly. Earlier, before the meeting, Tom had asked Harry’s permission to reveal his status as a Magus to his followers. And Harry had accepted. That was another case in which Tom had asked and not taken. It made him accept the man even more. But how could Harry be fond of a man who tortured and murdered without feeling any regret afterwards? His parents wouldn’t approve, but luckily, Harry had matured considerably the past few weeks and realized he didn’t live for his parents, but for himself.

 

“Harry is a Magus.”

 

There were some who knew what a Magus was. Their eyes widened and their attitude had changed to that of fascination. Others, who had the same ignorance Harry once had, looked bemused.

 

“Some of you don’t know what a Magus is and what it entitles. I will urge you to research the topic in your free time. In the mean time, I will give you the basic understanding.” Riddle seemed to adapt his professor tone. “A Magus is a very rare and powerful wizard, a sorcerer of sorts. It is impossible for Magi to really grasp incantations and wand movements. They have little attention span and find it difficult to learn from textbooks. Simply, they’re free spirits. Their magical core is not created like any other witch or wizard, instead, they _are_ magic.

 

“The Ministry, in specific, the Unspeakables, has discovered this fact. Or, at least they are suspicious of Mr. Potter’s status as a Magus. The issued warrant for Harry’s arrest is due to their desire to get their hands on a Magus to either destroy him or attempt to experiment on him. I’m sure you are all conscious to what the Unspeakables could do to him in their labs.”

 

Silence. Then.

 

“With all due respect, My Lord, are you not suspicious that the boy and Dumbledore are in on this together? How do you know that they aren’t together, hoping to bring us down? After all, I heard stories of how close Dumbledore and the boy are.”

 

The boy. Was that really what Harry was to most of these people? No matter, he realized that it would take a while for them to accept his place here, with them. As much as Harry would like to deny it, he wanted to prove them wrong, to prove _himself_.  He wanted to attest he was just as determined to take down the Ministry as they were.

 

Tom’s hand left his shoulder in favor of taking out his wand. He twirled his ebony wand between his fingers, stepping close to the end of the raised platform. “Are you dense, Yaxley? If Harry was indeed with Dumbledore, why would a Magus go through the trouble of being here, standing silently? If he wanted to, he could easily wipe us out with a few silly wand waves.”

 

Harry studied Tom’s posture, seeing nothing but pure threat. The man was terrifying. Even Harry found himself on edge when Tom was like this. “This is the second time in a week that you have spoken out of line. Should I remove your tongue to ensure your silence?” he hissed, red eyes narrowing.

 

“N-no, My Lord, I apologize, it will not happen again.” The big man, Yaxley, went down to his knees.

 

“See to it that you keep that promise.” Tom caressed his wand, straightening from his hunched position. “I did not summon you all here to just introduce Mr. Potter. I would also like to inform you that Augustus Rookwood has been murdered by the Unspeakables. Our spy within the Unspeakables is no more.”

 

Harry peered around the crowd of followers, studying their expressions. There was true fear and vulnerability across most their faces. It was true, that getting a spy within the Unspeakables was difficult. Tom had done the unthinkable and courted a wizard in his group of followers. Even if Rookwood had been hesitant to meet with Tom and pass on information, it was still an ally within the most powerful group of enemies. But now that was no more.

 

Harry could understand their fear. To them, Rookwood had been a very valued follower.

 

“It is because of this challenge by the Ministry that I have called you here. It is time we declare a war in the wizarding world. This will not be like our raids before. No, this will be an authentic raid, one where we will not only be torturing, but killing the wizards tied within the Ministry. We will be confronted by the Aurors and perhaps the Unspeakables themselves. We will put on a united front before our enemies. Those of you who prefer not to engage in torture or killing will be acting as protection. Everyone will be engaging in dueling. There are not exceptions. I have prepared you all for this day, and I can only hope that you have learned well.”

 

A few cheers went up in the crowd and the atmosphere shifted within the large room. Earlier, it had been devastation, almost defeat. Now though, it had lightened to determination. It was if these followers had waited years to make their mark on the wizarding world.

 

“Prepare yourselves. Lucius and Mulciber, I request your presence up front.”

 

Apparently that was permission for the wizards to engage in conversation and loosen their tight postures from their respectful stances before Riddle. Harry watched as they began to strap wands on their arms or practice a few spells.

 

“Harry,” a voice whispered.

 

Harry turned abruptly toward the girl looking up at him. “Katie?” Harry asked in disbelief, staring at Katie Bell. He gave a laugh, hurrying down the platform and toward the brunette witch. He was unaware of the skeptical crimson eyes following in his wake.

 

Her smile was welcoming amongst the mistrustful stares. She embraced him in a hug, her arms tight around him. He returned the favor, feeling a bit overwhelmed at finally having a _Gryffindor_ in Tom’s ranks. It made him feel lighter, surer.

 

“I was surprised to see you here, I’d never thought I’d see you again,” she admitted as they separated. “I watched your last game against Bulgaria. You showed Krum a bit of his own medicine. It was brilliant. Oliver was proud.”

 

Harry flushed at his ears, shrugging shyly. “It seems like a lifetime ago,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Or any Gryffindor for that matter.” He remembered vaguely that Katie had been a genius in Defense. It was no wonder that she was courted by Riddle.

 

The thought of Tom courting Katie with his lure didn’t sit very well with him.

 

“There are actually quite a few Death Eaters who are Gryffindors, Harry.” She gave him a comforting smile, touching his shoulder. “Gryffindors may not be as smart as Ravenclaws, but we do know right from wrong. The Ministry is in the wrong and I want to do anything I can to help out.”

 

Harry stuck by Katie as she pointed out the Gryffindors. Being with her almost put his life back in reality. It had been awhile since he felt as if he were living on solid ground. Being with Riddle and his life-altering confessions had affect Harry more than he let on.

 

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She watched the boy from across the room, studying him without having to fear the Dark Lord’s notice of her observations. The Potter’s were never known to have beautiful males in their line of descendants. Handsome, yes, but not beautiful. But Narcissa could readily admit that Harry was an exception. The child had a bit of fragile beauty to him. Granted, there may have been a few calluses around the boy’s hands from Quidditch and those small thighs might have a bit of muscle from the sport, but overall, he was a beautiful young man.

 

Harry was similar to Draco in the almost angelic appearance. Only, Harry was the polar opposite of her beautiful son.

 

Whereas Draco was pale, Harry had color to his flawless skin. Draco was tall and lithe while Harry was shorter then the average male, his body frame compacted. And their hair. While both of them had a silky texture to their hair, Draco had crisp blond hair and Harry had inky black.

 

Narcissa’s lips twitched as she watched the child embrace a young woman. Amusedly, she observed the Dark Lord. He had taken notice just as she had.

 

Narcissa wasn’t much for showing emotion outside her family. But when she had seen the ill Harry Potter enter her home, a maternal instinct seemed to enlighten within her. She knew Harry had grown up with his mother until the age of ten, but after which, he had been motherless.

 

The child hadn’t had a soothing presence in his life for quite some time, a female protective presence. Narcissa knew she could extend a bit of herself to the child. She still stood by what she said to the Dark Lord today. Harry Potter _was_ a child still. And a war was something a child would struggle with, no matter if he was a Magus.

 

The war wasn’t her only concern for Harry Potter’s health. She was concerned about the Dark Lord’s staggering interest in the child. Never before had she seen Lord Voldemort so involved with another, so engrossed.

 

Even when the man was speaking to Lucius and Mulciber, his attention often drifted toward his charge. It was a subtle action, one that Narcissa would have missed if she had not been looking for it. She was afraid that the Dark Lord’s interest extended to more than a guardian and mentor. A young and innocent child like Harry should never have to be tainted by an older and crueler man like the Dark Lord.

 

To prove her suspicions, the Dark Lord dismissed his two followers and glided over to Harry. Almost like a territorial feline, he rubbed himself against Harry’s side, his hand splaying a claw on the boy’s lower back. With a lethal grace, he placed himself in front of the child and towered over the young Katie Bell.

 

“Pensive this evening, my dear?”

 

Narcissa turned calmly to her husband. “I find our Dark Lord’s interest in Mr. Potter worrisome.”

 

Lucius’ light gaze traveled across the room to the two dark-haired wizards. “He is interested in the boy’s power, Narcissa. I do not blame him. At times, I find myself enthralled in Mr. Potter’s powerful aura, despite his appalling lack of manners.” Lucius paused, his hand curling around her elbow. “Our Lord has always been attracted to such power.”

 

“No,” Narcissa spoke defiantly. “I do not think that is all, Lucius. Have you not noticed our Lord’s sexual advances? He’s romantically enthralled with the child. I don’t find it comforting in the least. I find myself thinking of Draco in Harry’s position. The child is too young to handle such a force as the Dark Lord.”

 

“Despite your worries, my love, you would not be able to help. The boy is our Lord’s and our Lord is possessive.” Lucius took her by the shoulders and gently turned her away from the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. “Besides, I think you’ve underestimated Mr. Potter. I think he can, most definitely, stand his own against our Lord. Maybe it is not the boy we should be worried about, but the Dark Lord himself. We wouldn’t want Mr. Potter turning the Dark Lord soft, now would we?”

 

Narcissa chuckled, hoping Lucius was right. “It would do the man some good to feel humility. Never once has he bent for another and shone some vulnerability.”

 

“Perhaps Potter will be the one to bend our Lord’s spine.” Lucius replied in reluctant admittance. “Now come, Narcissa, turn your worries to the battle before us.”

 

Grudgingly, Narcissa looked away from the domineering Dark Lord.

 

Perhaps she needed to make an appearance in Harry Potter’s life rather then watching from afar.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry felt Tom before he saw the man.

 

Rather unexpectedly, Riddle appeared at his side, his hand raking down his back. The taller wizard stepped near Katie, placing his body in a way that would be difficult for Harry to move forward. “I see you met, Ms. Bell, Harry.” The man hissed out softly, his fingers almost clawing at Harry’s lower back. “Startled to see another Gryffindor?” The man turned a tight grin on Harry, all the while pulling him closer.

 

Bloody hell…

 

“Er…” he started ineloquently. “Yes, it’s nice to see Katie again.” He looked away from Tom and back on Katie. The dark-haired girl looked intimidated but allured by the Dark Lord’s presence. “When will we—,”

 

“I hope you are fairing well, Ms. Bell,” Tom asked in a pleasant manner. But there was a tight tension around his eyes and the smile wasn’t a true one. Harry could see the man was trying his best to appear charming, while a sort of devious light appeared underneath that façade. What the hell was wrong with the man tonight?

 

“I am fairing decently, My Lord, thank you,” she bowed her head deeply toward the man, flashing a look at Harry from beyond his shoulder.

 

Harry tried to pull away, tired of the proceedings, but Tom’s clawed hand clutched at his side, keeping him in place. “I suggest you prepare yourself for battle then, Ms. Bell.” Tom spoke coldly, dismissing her as he turned his shoulder on her.

 

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Harry hissed when they turned away. “I wanted to catch up—,”

 

“You do realize that the girl is engaged, correct?” Tom shook off Harry’s temper as if it were inconvenient. “A romantic relationship with her will do you no good.”

 

Harry spluttered, his body moving subconsciously wherever Tom was leading him. “A romantic relationship?” he repeated dumbly. “With Katie? I… I don’t see her like that- I…” he paused, looking at the handsome face. Tom’s expression was pinched and cold. “Are you… jealous?” Harry couldn’t believe he asked that.

 

Crimson eyes narrowed into slits as Tom stopped walking. They were near the exit, a bit farther from everyone else. “What did you just ask me?” The man whispered coldly. “ _I_ do not get jealous.” There was a malicious smirk that quirked the man’s lip. “Possessive, on the other hand, is understandable.”

 

Harry paled. He usually didn’t get affected by the Dark Lord’s threatening expressions and tone of voice, but for some reason, he knew he should dance away from this topic. “Listen, if you have a thing for Katie, that’s all fine and good. You can have her.” Harry held his hands up to Tom in surrender. “Just don’t get your knickers in a bundle.”

 

Did he truly just say that?

 

Heat blossomed across his cheeks as Tom stared at him, looking just as surprised as Harry at his comment.

 

“My Lord,” a voice, _thankfully_ , interrupted. “Will we be leaving shortly?”

 

Harry turned to look at the masked Death Eater, unnerved at the mask. Now that he took notice, most the Death Eaters within the room had donned masks. “Yes,” was all that Riddle said in reply. “Just give me a moment alone.”

 

The man scurried away before Tom had to ask twice. For the second time that day, Harry found his chin being taken by long and cold fingers. He was forced to meet eyes with crimson. “You are still magically weak from yesterday’s fire, Harry. I do not want you to push yourself, do you understand me? You agreed to my terms of leaving the scene when the Ministry arrives in defense. I hope that agreement is still set in stone?”

 

Harry bit his tongue. “I’m a Magus. I can handle a few wizards from the Ministry.”

 

The fingers tightened on his chin to an almost painful squeeze. “I did not ask if you could handle it, I am _telling_ you, you will not accompany me if you don’t keep your word of leaving the scene when Aurors and Unspeakables arrive.”

 

Harry sighed like a sullen teen. “Yes, fine,” he didn’t promise.

 

Tom narrowed his eyes, looking everything like a Dark Lord. “If you break your word, boy, there will be serious consequences.” The man let his chin go and Harry rubbed the sore skin.

 

He wondered, just briefly, if Riddle would keep _his_ promise of punishing him if he didn’t leave.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

 

From the looks of things, the evening was a clear and calm night. The glittering galaxies above were visible to the naked eye, even under a glowing street lantern. The streets were empty, the children already gone inside for the night. A few of the houses had lights on inside, their windows glowing in the darkening night.

 

It looked peaceful, Harry thought, but he knew, within seconds, it would become chaos. He stood stiffly next to Tom, observing the man from the corner of his eye. The Dark Lord’s towering height was pronounced tonight with his black hooded cloak. Even if Harry wasn’t skilled with sensing auras, he could feel the shocking magic coming from the man. “Just promise me,” Harry whispered, his skin tingling with the man’s growing aura. “That you won’t harm the children.”

 

The hooded cloak turned to him. Nothing was seen of the man’s face beneath the hood, save for the aristocratic lips that twitched upwards.

 

“I may be a Dark Lord, Harry, but harming children has never been my idea of a ‘fun’ time.” Harry deflated with relief. The man chuckled at his actions, his wand earning a caress between his fingers. “Sometimes, I marvel at your morals, Harry. How can you still be so pure after learning of such crimes against your loved ones?”

 

It wasn’t really a question Tom was asking, Harry knew. The man was just thinking out loud. Nonetheless, he answered. “I want to take down the Ministry, Tom. But I don’t want to torture. If I need to kill, I will do it as quickly and painlessly as I can.” Unless, of course, there was an enemy who really got on Harry’s resolve.

 

Tom chuckled again, reaching out to run his cold finger down Harry’s cheek.

 

Heat inflamed on his face and Harry turned away, unable to stand anymore time in Tom’s presence. Behind them, Tom’s followers were standing standstill, their expressions not giving away their thoughts on the Dark Lord’s and Harry’s actions. Still, Harry felt uncomfortable.

 

“Wands at the ready,” Tom breathed, raising his wand. Behind him, every one of his wizards and witches raised their wands. Some of the arms trembled with both excitement and trepidation.

 

Harry kept his lowered, not planning on charging inside the homes to attack. There were a few other Death Eaters who chose to separate themselves from the killing and torture and instead decided to act as a defense. Harry would do the same. Of course, Tom expected him to leave if the Unspeakables arrived.

 

Who the hell did Tom think he was?

 

_“Morsmordre!”_

 

An acidic green flash rocketed in the sky before a wispy green figure became visible. Harry wasn’t surprised to see the Dark Mark in the sky. Most of Tom’s followers had the Dark Mark, a skull and serpent.

 

And then the chaos began.

 

Harry stood still, his body taking a few shoulder hits from the passing followers of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Luckily, he remained on his feet, staring up at the Dark Mark. His eyes were void as he watched the serpent move gracefully this way and that. It seemed almost peaceful, watching such a threatening mark. That was, until the screams of terror started.

 

Harry took a deep breath, trying to block it out.

 

After all, Harry was the one who had asked to accompany Tom tonight. This was _his_ choice to be here. He understood the reasoning behind Tom’s attack. The man wanted revenge from the Ministry’s daring act of killing off Rookwood. The man also wanted the wizarding world to be startled into realization that there was a war here.

 

And it wasn’t like this neighborhood was just a defenseless and innocent community. No, this was where the majority of the Ministry Law Enforcement was housed. And each of these members had a slight knowledge of the happenings inside the Unspeakable labs. Tom’s torture and his followers’ torture and killing was _nothing_ compared to the Ministry’s and Unspeakable’s experiments on the innocent.

 

Still…

 

It was difficult for Harry to hear the screams. They were all so frightened…

 

He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the Dark Mark in the sky. Tom was absent beside him. The Dark Lord probably thought Harry was still beside him. Little did he know, in his haze at the prospect of having _fun_ , that his Magus was still standing in the middle of the street. No matter. Harry wouldn’t have wanted to actually enter another’s house. He was perfectly fine on the street.

 

“Not having much fun?” A voice commented lightly. Harry turned to look at Katie Bell. Beneath a skull mask, her eyes were surveying him thoughtfully.

 

He hadn’t taken a mask. Even though Tom had handed him one, Harry had denied. Let the world see his true face. The papers already claimed him as a criminal. Why try to deny what was true? He was a criminal and he was proud. Well… at times. Presently, he was feeling a bit uncomfortable with his decision. But he should have known this torture and killing was coming as soon as Professor Riddle became the Dark Lord Voldemort.

 

“At the moment? No.” Harry grinned lightly. “When the Unspeakables and Aurors come, then I _will_ be having fun.” If he could continue to distance himself from Tom, the Dark Lord wouldn’t even know if Harry had left or not.

 

Tom came here to satisfy his hunger for torture. Why couldn’t Harry satisfy his own hunger by staying and fighting?

 

“I, myself, enjoy dueling against the Ministry best.” Katie agreed, her wand out and ready just incase the Ministry arrived. And when they arrived, Harry was expected to go back to the Malfoy manor. How laughable was that?

 

He glanced around the block, watching as the Death Eaters placed the homes on fire. His eyes took in the bright glow, his hand tingling at the memory of his own home fire. It had been devastating. He knew just what those men and women were feeling as they watched their home being attacked. Only, they couldn’t just stand and mourn, for they had to defend against the Death Eaters.

 

“I don’t blame you.” Harry whispered in response to Katie. “Sometimes, even our worst enemies don’t deserve death.”

 

He looked over Katie’s shoulder and stiffened when he saw a heavy set Death Eater standing over a young child. The child, a female, looked around nine or ten, just young enough not to be accepted into Hogwarts this term. Her chocolate brown hair fell in her pained face and her mouth was open in a shrilling scream.

 

Harry saw red.

 

“Excuse me,” he quickly moved past Katie, his strides long and hurried. The child on the ground gave a particularly loud scream, her tears thick and beaded down her cheeks. How could anyone, an adult in specific, enjoy something like this? Her back was arched in an odd angle as she tried to handle the pain.

 

 _“Do not_ ,” Harry hissed, his wand thrashing through the air, causing the Death Eater’s own wand to shoot from his grasp. The man looked up at him, his dark eyes assessing Harry in disgust. “You will not harm defenseless children, you coward.”

 

He stood over the gasping and wheezing girl, his long cloak shielding her from the Death Eater’s hungry gaze. “You think you have the _right_ to demand things of me, boy?”

 

Before Harry could respond, a female voice interrupted. “I think any Magus, no matter how old they are, have a right to order you around, Yaxley.” Harry turned to watch a tall and thin form walk toward them. Through the mask, Harry saw stunning blue eyes and knew instantly that it was Narcissa Malfoy. “Our Lord says he is an alley, not a follower. Clearly, even in your dense head, that means he is a step above you.”

 

Harry stood stiffly, watching as the two stared one another down. He hadn’t expected Narcissa _Malfoy_ of all people to agree with him or defend him.

 

“What do you know?” The man, Yaxley hissed. “You bloody bitch.”

 

Narcissa carried herself with pride and charm. Harry could sense her aura. Although her aura was not as powerful as Tom’s and her husband’s, Narcissa was a very strong witch. Her eyes didn’t even flicker at Yaxley’s spitting remark. Instead, they cooled into pools of steel.

 

Before either of them could advance in the argument, everything seemed to darken and become hushed.

 

Harry whirled around, wide-eyed as he stared at the neighborhood. What was originally lightened by fires and firing hexes, was now darkened. The fire was gone and no curses were being cast. The screams seemed to cease and even the wind seemed to stand at still. The wizards, mainly Death Eaters, began to drift outside the homes. The victims, the Ministry workers who had been home at the time of the attack, didn’t even fire at the Death Eater’s turned backs.

 

“Our wands, they don’t work,” exclaimed a shocked Yaxley. _“Lumos_.” Nothing came from his wand, certainly not a light.

 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat in fear at the thickening atmosphere of despair. No spells were being cast, no spells _could_ be cast. The fires had been distinguished and even the stars above were blanketed by heavy clouds.

 

It was difficult to see, but it was doable. It was dusk, not total nightfall.

 

Somehow, the magic seemed to be sucked from the environment. “Look, the Dark Mark!” Someone exclaimed in murmured surprise.

 

Harry craned his neck back, watching as the acidic green mark seemed to shudder before it exploded. Green sparks rained down from the sky, looking like fireworks as they descended. What was left in the sky was nothing but angry clouds.

 

The girl on the ground behind Harry sniffled in fear. “I wouldn’t even try to disapparate,” Narcissa informed softly, yet her voice seemed to carry through the street. “We may be splinched.”

 

Harry shivered at that, his magic wary. And he had every right to be guarded if the next few seconds was anything to go by.

 

Fire, so bright and hot, circled him, encaging him. But not only him. Yaxley, Narcissa, and the wizarding girl behind him were caged inside the inferno. _“Cissy,”_ a man called out desperately. A Death Eater, Harry knew to be Lucius, ran to the ring of fire, trying his best to distinguish the flames. But it was futile. No one’s wands worked.

 

A laugh echoed across the neighborhood and Harry growled, his shoulders hunching in both defense and anger. He knew who was behind this. The only other being on this world who was just as strong as Harry.

 

The other Magus.

 

“Familiar?” the voice crooned at Harry, and from the sky, a black mist signaled his apparation. The man appeared in front of the ring of fire, standing patiently on the other side. He had his hood drawn, hiding his appearance once again. “It’s the same fire that took both your hand and family home. Only, this time, it spreads a bit faster.”

 

After his statement, two cries were heard simultaneously; one from the girl behind Harry and the other from Yaxley. Harry whirled around, grabbing the frightened girl under her arms and dragging her closer as the fire seemed to seep inward at a constant pace. Yaxley wasn’t so lucky. His robes caught on fire and he had to dive on the floor, rolling around crazily in order to extinguish the flames. Harry couldn’t conjure up any pity for the man.

 

Narcissa pressed herself closer to Harry as the ring began to close in.

 

 _“Aguamenti,”_ a clear and confident voice shouted. A heavy spray of water tried to extinguish the flames, but it only doused briefly before raging once again. It wasn’t out long enough for anyone to react.

 

Harry turned to the wizard who had successfully casted a spell in the magicless environment and wasn’t surprised to see Tom on the other side. His hood was down, revealing his calm, yet critical expression. If anyone, besides a Magus, could cast magic when none other could, it would be Tom. He wasn’t the Dark Lord for nothing.

 

But Harry didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that Tom was powerful. He already _knew_ that. What he didn’t know, was how to escape.

 

Even Harry knew he was weak. The fire at the Potter home and the trip to France to the Unspeakable labs had weakened him and he hadn’t rested since. But he knew tonight wouldn’t be one for hiding. Tonight was the night he would push his limits.

 

Like the Magus, Harry used his own element for conquering the flames. As he pointed his wand to the sky, he willed his magic to grow within him. It was time for his Magus to awaken again.

 

Rain poured heavily down to the ground and the fire spit before going out. Harry’s eyes became hooded from the sensation of the water. He preferred the cool liquid that pierced painfully at his skin compared to the hot flames. Steam from the quenched fire rose around the four of them. But Harry didn’t stay to see if the others were alright.

 

His temper and determination got the best of him and he charged at the Magus. It was still alien, holding his wand in his left hand, but it was comfortable enough to attack. But he never got the chance to knock the egotistical Magus down. Instead, his left arm was pulled backward and his body was frozen in place.

 

To his shock, it wasn’t the Magus that had stopped him, but Tom.

 

“Temper,” the Dark Lord hissed silkily, dangerously. “You will _not_ let your temper run you, or you have lost before you have begun.” The man appeared at his shoulder, the taller form towering over Harry and eyeing the Magus across from him.

 

Harry tried to breathe past his rage and anger, having enough sense to understand and comprehend Tom’s words. The man was right. Having a blind sided temper wouldn’t help matters in the least. He would be prisoner to his magic and the Magus would take advantage of it.

 

“ _You_ have your own battle to fight,” the Magus murmured, amused as he eyed Tom beneath his hood. “As much as I find the idea of slaughtering you appealing, my fight does not lie with a mere mortal, but one of my own ranking.”

 

The Magus raised his short staff and waved it. Harry tensed, expecting the blazing fire again, but was even more surprised to see Aurors and the likes becoming visible. They were surrounding the Death Eaters, their stances defensive and ready for battle. And just like that, the magic came back to the atmosphere immediately after the Ministry attacked.

 

They were at a disadvantage, and no doubt falling behind _already,_ when the battle just began.

 

Tom hesitated next to him, but Harry didn’t need time to debate. He took another advancing step closer to the Magus, his attention completely engrossed on the man. “Who are you?” Harry murmured; his teeth set on edge.

 

“Does it matter, Harry?” The man all but purred. He laughed, waving his staff.

 

The ground beneath Harry buckled and the small body was brought to its knees. His wand clattered to the ground as he tried to gain balance with one hand. It was difficult having only one hand. After all, he hadn’t even had a whole day to come to terms with the lack of balance and lack of appendage.

 

He gritted his teeth, feeling overwhelmed. Why did he find it so hard to defend himself?

 

The ground produced a few more holes, and before he knew it, he was waist deep in the ground. Around him, the Aurors and Order members fought against one another. No one could help him; no one was _capable_ of helping him.

 

For the first time, he realized he was alone when it came to battling an enemy that was not only just as powerful as himself, but far more knowledgeable and experienced. “Come now,” the Magus scolded. “Is it really going to be this simple?”

 

Harry wheezed as he grasped his fallen wand, waving it to deflect the flying bolder whizzing straight toward his collapsed form. With another bout of determination, he took a large piece of cement from the road and stood on it. Using his reflexes and balance from Quidditch, he levitated it, feeling the wind rush through his hair as he rose in the air. He felt powerful, being above the Magus height wise. And he didn’t stop there.

 

He batted his wand and used the flying debris from the road as his own personal staircase. He sprinted up the ground-made stairs and with a burst of energy, he attacked the Magus standing opposite of him. His magic took the man by the waist and tossed him across the road. The body appeared like a rag doll. Harry stood there, haughty, as he watched the Magus land on the ground, almost taken aback by Harry’s attack.

 

His short celebration was episodic when his levitated stair fell from the air. He gave a grunt as he landed on the ground, feeling his elbow crack painfully on the hard surface. He scrambled up, whirling around, looking for the Magus. The man had just been there, lying on the ground, but the spot he had been at was now vacant.

 

The street looked like the pits of hell. Deep groves were carved into the once nicely built road. It had almost been Harry’s grave and it was currently acting as a grave to the fallen Aurors and Order members. The Ministry was trying their best to knock the Death Eaters unconscious, but others were resorting to committing murder.

 

He continued to look for the missing Magus, his body coiled and ready for a surprise attack. Just a bit of ways, he saw Tom and Dumbledore dueling. Their spells were advanced, most of them Harry had never heard of. But at times, it just appeared as if they were casting wandless magic.

 

Harry stared at the man he once thought as his mentor, as his grandfather. If Harry expected the older man to look any different in light of the betrayal, he was sorely mistaken. He looked like he always did. The man’s long white beard was curled over his shoulder and his twinkling blue eyes were hardened as they narrowed pensively at Tom. The two had such power… it looked as if they were just throwing raw magic back and forth.

 

Harry assumed he could just reach out with his magic and try to stop Dumbledore’s heart. But no matter how much he was angered by the man, he couldn’t commit that crime. How pathetic was he?  He would rather Tom, the driving force of the Dark side, work his arse off just to kill Dumbledore while Harry didn’t even lift a finger.

 

How could Harry cause the old man’s death when he had such an attachment to him? Yet, he knew, without a doubt, that if it came down to it, he would defend Tom’s life and destroy Dumbledore’s.

 

“You wish to know who I am,” the voice announced his presence again.

 

This time, the Magus was further down the road, closer to the forest. Harry’s attention averted from the duel to the Magus in seconds, quickly becoming engrossed. Subconsciously, even Harry was concerned at how obsessed he had become with the new enemy.

 

“I… am your loved ones,” the man dropped his hood, revealing a face Harry would never think he’d see again. Sirius Black grinned roguishly at him, his eyes tracing every bit of Harry. “You cannot harm me anymore, can you Harry? How could you possible raise your wand against me? Your godfather?”

 

Harry spluttered, his shoulders becoming slack with surprise. It wasn’t until he really _looked_ at Sirius did he realize that it wasn’t at all what it appeared to be. This wasn’t Sirius. Harry saw Sirius being lowered into the ground during his funeral. He _saw_ the man’s body and casket being covered by dirt.

 

“You bastard,” Harry hissed, feeling the overwhelming anger. “You think you can use my loved ones against me?”

 

“I think it’s a possibility,” Sirius’ face morphed into that of a woman with brilliant red hair and shocking green eyes. “After all,” the Magus’ voice softened into that of a female, into that of Lily Potter. Seeing her made Harry’s heart clench painfully. “It’s affecting you now, isn’t it?” She cocked her head, the motherly glow and love was gone from her face, leaving behind a taunting grin.

 

Harry charged again, not bothering to hide his contempt. He left the battle behind him and entered the woods where the Magus had disappeared into. “Why are you doing this?” Harry hissed angrily, looking around the darkened woods. “I did _nothing_ to you.”

 

Distinctively, he remembered Tom telling him of the past Magi. They had been plentiful before the time of Merlin. That is, until they began killing each other off. Being reminded of that now didn’t settle his pounding heart.

 

“On the contrary, young Magus, you have committed a wrong.” The man’s voice was no longer Lily Potter’s, but that of his own. It held age old wisdom, a voice Harry would hear from Dumbledore’s twin.

 

Harry looked around the dark woods, not able to find the hiding Magus. The man had thrown his voice so it sounded as if it were coming from every which way. Harry kept his head still, deciding not to look like an idiot by glancing in every direction. “And what might that be?” Harry demanded of the man.

 

“I’m sure you are aware of the Magi before Merlin’s time. They began killing each other off. And do you know why?” the voice began sadly. “Because they had willingly picked sides of the wizarding war. Magi are not _meant_ to fight in a war. They are neutral and with it, they will not use their powers for their own gain. They bring peace, not war.” Harry breathed heavily, feeling dizzy. “It may come to a surprise, Harry, but Magi are immortal. Oh, but they can die just like any other mortal, it’s just a bit harder to accomplish.”

 

Before Harry could voice his disproval, the Magus continued. “I understand that you are a mere fledging. I, with hundred of years experience, thrive to keep the occasional Magi in line. You, Harry, have committed a crime against your kind. You are a peace bringer not one who brings war. And you are not trained, an even more dangerous threat to the world.”

 

“I am _trying_ to bring peace,” Harry protested hotly, ignoring the jab about him not being trained. “You don’t have any idea what the Unspeakables are doing to Dark wizards. _Innocent_ Dark wizards.”

 

“I do know of their intentions.” The man admitted darkly. “Let time run its course, Harry. With time, things will change. A Magi is not supposed to bring on that change. It is an unfair advantage and a dangerous path at that.”

 

“And what about you?” Harry asked, dryly amused. “You are siding with the Ministry, with the Light. Doesn’t that make you going against your own word?”

 

The Magus was silent for a moment before his sinister tone cut through the woods. “I am bringing _balance_. Once you are destroyed, I will leave Britain once again and wait until another Magus is born. Once they are born, I will train them correctly, the same way you would have been trained if you hadn’t hidden yourself so cowardly.” Harry flinched at that, feeling hate swell in the pit of his belly. “You are too old and too set on your ways to train now. That is why I will give you a choice. I want you to think long and hard about your choice in helping your Lord with this uprising.”

 

Harry whirled around, staring at the Magus who had finally shown himself. He was taken aback when he was met with a physical body that was no older than twenty. The blonde haired Magus gave Harry a dark, thin smile.

 

“I can guarantee you, Harry, that if you do decide to continue your uprising, you will not stand a chance against me. I have hundreds of year’s experience, whereas you have only a few weeks. If you do decide to stop this war, I will assist you in your training. You aren’t a total lost cause.”

 

Harry breathed deeply through his nostrils, his left hand tightening around his slick wand. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. I’m going to save the innocents that have been imprisoned by the Ministry.”

 

The Magus gave a tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t give your answer too quickly. You need time to think on it, young Magus. Until that time…” the man trailed off and before Harry had a chance to understand the proceedings, he was struck harshly at the back of his head.

 

His vision blackened and he was out cold.

 

**\--CBS--**

He didn’t know how long he was out.

 

It couldn’t have been that long. It was still dark and in the distance, he could hear the spells being thrown back and forth. Harry groaned; his face in the moist dirt. Before he could gather himself, he hurriedly got to his knees and vomited the contents of his stomach.

 

He groaned, his body swaying. Nothing was solid, not even the ground felt solid. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he groped for his wand, careful not to touch the pile of vomit. With his eyes closed, he felt the familiar wand and closed his fingers around it, feeling a bit more comforted. Everything was just so… hazy…

 

Harry gave a cough, feeling his stomach protest as he tried to get up. His headache was intense and tears sprang to his eyes because of it.

 

Even if he felt disorientated, he still felt the overwhelming urge of anger and crankiness. That bloody Magus… Harry would show him. The man had been so confident and arrogant. He acted as if Harry was just a mere annoyance.

 

With heavy steps, he tittered his way to the end of the woods, staring at the damage before him. It was difficult to see straight, especially when he felt as if he were seeing double. Still… he could see that the Death Eaters were struggling. Right?

 

Harry whimpered, holding his head. Something wasn’t right. His head wasn’t right…

 

No matter. The battle had to come to an end and Harry wasn’t just going to stand around to wait for it. He just wanted to go in bed, sleep away his weakness and dwell on the Magi’s words. Right now wasn’t the time to think on the man’s warnings or shocking revelations. Especially the part about him being immortal now… Merlin.

 

He lifted his chin, a cold willpower settling in his nauseated stomach. With a running start, his body became weightless before he was nothing but a flying mist. He had never done it before, but he had seen others accomplish it. The Magus had done it, being nothing more than a flying mist of black. But Harry’s form was pure white.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Tom took a step back as Dumbledore stumbled. A white mist shot by and Tom had a sinking suspicion that it was Harry. Earlier, he had tried to watch the younger wizard throughout the duel, but Dumbledore wasn’t exactly the best enemy he could take his eyes off of.

 

The older wizard went to his knees, breathing heavily as if something had struck him internally. And Dumbledore wasn’t the only one. Countless of Unspeakables and Aurors went down to their knees, the Death Eater’s quickly taking advantage. Tom eyed the glowing white mist before turning his wand on the fallen wizard. “Death is yet the next great adventure, isn’t that what you always say, Albus?” Tom hissed, his wand jabbing painfully underneath the man’s throat. “Will you look death in the eyes tonight?”

 

It didn’t surprise him when the old fool disapparated, still holding his stomach.

 

Tom hissed in pleasure as he watched his enemies slowly disapparate, leaving the street abandoned to the Death Eaters. By now, the residents in the neighborhood had left as well, only leaving empty houses and cold corpses.

 

Whipping his cloak around him, Tom glided across the road as soon as the white mist became solid. The boy looked shaken up. The black hair was sticking on edge and the face was stained with mud. The boy’s overall posture was exhausted and frail.

 

He narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry take an Unspeakable by the collar, caging him in with his magic. “You will get the labs location from him,” the boy demanded at Tom as soon as he came within distance. “And then we will invade their labs. Set the prisoners free…” the boy was speaking in a slurred tone, suggesting either fatigue or something a bit more severe.

 

The bound Unspeakable landed at his feet, unconscious. Tom placed the toe of his boot on the wizard’s face, turning it away from him in disgust. “I must applaud you on your timing, Harry.” Tom looked up at the smaller wizard. “You did well tonight.”

 

Green eyes darkened into confusion. “Excuse me?”

 

Tom grunted, irritated. “You did well tonight.” He repeated as if the boy were thick. He wanted to ask what Harry had done to the Ministry and the Order, but thought against it when he saw the boy’s puzzled expression.

 

Around them, the Death Eaters were gathering themselves, checking for wounded and survivors. Tom had trained them well. He could not help them at all times. At the moment, his Gem had his attention. His… disoriented Gem.

 

“…yeah…” the boy replied absentmindedly.

 

Tom struck out, grabbing hold of Harry’s face. “What is wrong? What did the wizard do to you?” 

 

“I need to sleep,” the boy slurred. “I’m just really tired, Tom. May I go to the Malfoy manor? You have your followers to attend to.”

 

Tom studied the boy, looking for signs of something other than fatigue. The boy truly looked tired. Grasping the boy’s head, Tom brought him closer and brushed his lips across Harry’s temple. “We will discuss what happened at a later date, my Gem. Get some sleep. I will not be over at the manor until everyone is looked over after.” He pulled away from the boy, noting that the Gryffindor hadn’t protested to the way Tom was treating him.

 

He narrowed his eyes on Harry before calling over Narcissa. The woman looked unruffled, even after a long fought battle.

 

Only after he asked Narcissa to accompany Harry to the manor, did he notice the blood on his hands. Tom raised his hands toward his face, studying the thick crimson liquid. It was not his own blood.

 

The boy had lied.

 

All was not _fine._


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

The sleep had been _so_ good and _so_ deep. Harry moaned when he felt someone shake his shoulder. Why couldn’t he just sleep away his life? Ah yes, because he was immortal. It didn’t work that way unless someone could kill him in his sleep.

 

His eyes blinked open to angry crimson. Yes. He should have just kept sleeping.

 

“You’re a fool,” Tom accused sharply. Relatively swiftly, he reached down and took Harry’s head harshly by the hair in order to pull him into a sitting position. Harry gave a muffled gurgle in pain at the action.

 

“Please, My Lord, I beg of you to be gentle of his head—,” a man desperately pleaded with a worried tone. Despite the rough handling of the Dark Lord, Harry could dimly pinpoint the voice as the man— the Healer, Cormac. Cormac had been the man who tended to his hand the other day.

 

“If the boy hadn’t been an idiot, we wouldn’t even be in this situation.” Tom spat back, his fingers running through Harry’s messy hair. The massage felt _good,_ but Harry was sure the Dark Lord wasn’t just merely massaging his head he was—,

 

“ _Ow!_ ” Harry shouted as Tom’s fingers encountered the exceptionally sore spot on his head. “That bloody hurt, you bastard.”

 

The man had the greatest ability to control himself when it came to Harry’s smart mouth. Either that, or he had selective hearing. “Here it is,” Tom murmured to the Healer. “I had blood on my hands earlier this night from the wound and its still bleeding, after hours of being fresh.”

 

Harry felt miserable. He had already vomited up all the contents in his stomach, but as Tom passed his head to the Healer, Harry gagged as the fingers pressed on the wound. He leaned over the bed and dry heaved. He groaned as hands pulled him up by the shoulders.

 

“Nausea,” the Healer commented as if it hadn’t been obvious. “Let’s see your eyes, boy.”

 

Harry reluctantly looked up and flinched away at the small light at the end of the Healer’s wand. His chin was then grasped by cold hands, hands he knew belonged to Riddle. The Dark Lord turned his face back to the Healer and Harry had to suffer as the man looked at his eyes with that damned pen-like light.

 

“Ah yes, unequal sized pupils.” Harry pulled away from Tom, growling. He just wanted to go to bed. He had the worst damn headache. “The boy has a concussion, as suspected.” Harry tried to keep his attention away from the brooding Dark Lord in the corner.

 

“A concussion?” Harry blanched at that, remembering the heavy branch that hit him in the back of his head last night. “Can it be cured?”

 

“Concussions are not curable,” Tom spoke for the Healer. “I should withhold the Headache draught from you and make you sit outside in the sun all day for your insolence.” Harry gave a deep sigh, slumping against his pillows. A Headache reliever would be nice. “But considering I’m a merciful Lord, I might just have to let you slide, _again_.”

 

Rather deliriously, Harry flashed the man a goofy grin. “Merciful…” he gave a chuckle.

 

Tom frowned, turning toward the Healer. “I’m assuming rest is involved with Mr. Potter’s recovery?”

 

Cormac took out two vials of potion and approached Tom. “Yes, My Lord, a week of rest will assist the boy in terms of recovery. The first two days, the child should be bedridden, after which, he may slowly start to push himself in terms of walking. The Malfoy manor has plenty of stairs and corridors for the boy to get enough exercise. No magic should be cast for a good week. He needs to take it easy and take in enough nutrients.”

 

“A week?” Harry thought he heard the man wrong.

 

Neither of the two men glanced at him. “This potion will aid Mr. Potter with his headache and this,” he handed the two vials to the Dark Lord. “This should be taken every four hours. When a wizard has a concussion you should keep on a solid schedule of waking him up every four hours. At least for the first night. A mouthful of the potion should do it. It helps the internal bleedings and the bruising inside the brain.”

 

“Thank you, Cormac,” the Dark Lord accepted the tonics.

 

“If you don’t mind, My Lord, I must get back to the others. I have a few Death Eaters who are in need of medical attention.”

 

Tom waved the man away, turning to Harry as soon as the door shut. The Dark Lord had his concentration on the potion vials, unscrewing the first. “You can’t honestly mean to keep me here, in this bed for two whole days. You can’t.”

 

A thin eyebrow rose and crimson eyes looked down at Harry. “And is that, Mr. Potter, a challenge?” Harry swallowed at the tone, knowing full well he shouldn’t press the subject when the Dark Lord carried that type of tone. “I can assure you I _can_ and will keep you in this bed for two days. After which, you will still take it easy for a week. If you disagree or go against my order, I will skin the bottom of your feet to ensure you stay off your legs.”

 

Harry flinched, closing his eyes sharply at the image he got in his head. He was more than sure the Dark Lord _would_ do that just as means to keep him in bed. “I already feel better, though. I mean, besides the headache and the slight nausea.”

 

“That is because your brain is healing itself. If you are stupid enough to push yourself, your earlier symptoms may come back and more may accompany it.” Tom stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. Rather uncharacteristically, the man reached forward and brushed Harry’s hair back in an almost soothing matter. “You silly child,” the Dark Lord scolded gently. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

 

“I just wanted to sleep,” Harry excused himself. “I didn’t know it was so severe.”

 

He blushed to his roots when he remembered how he got the injury. The Magus had overpowered him. Completely and utterly. Merlin, he was such a weak pansy. “What is on your mind?” Tom’s voice broke through his hazy mind.

 

“I feel…ashamed.” The confession was off his tongue before he could think twice.

 

Tom was silent for a long moment and Harry refused to even glance at the man, too embarrassed to witness any expression. “How so?” Harry shook his head in denial, unable to continue this discussion. “Harry,” the man admonished. A clunk was heard as Tom placed down the potions on the bedside before turning his body to face the boy completely. Cold hands grasped his chin, turning him to look at him. “Is this about the other?”

 

_The other._

 

Harry narrowed his eyes, feeling a twinge of annoyance and anger. “You’re still too stubborn to admit there is another _Magus_ , Tom. He’s real and he’s a lot more powerful and experienced than I am. I felt like a fool as I tried to defend myself. He overpowered me like I was a mere toddler in time for his scolding.” Harry studied the man’s closed off expression. “He… the Magus told me things… he gave me an option, a choice.”

 

Tom’s lips thinned as if he didn’t want to hear anything about the other Magus, as if he were still denying the man’s existence. “Oh? And what was that?”

 

Harry hesitated, not sure if he liked Tom’s tone to continue. But he continued nonetheless. “He told me Magi were peace bringers, not ones who dabbled into the wizards’ wars. He… he told me Magi were immortal.”

 

It was odd, saying it out loud. Harry still didn’t know what he felt about that bit of information. A part of him liked the sound of living forever, but the other, louder side, protested against the idea. Being alive forever would become so incredibly lonely. He was already lonely at the young age of seventeen.

 

He studied the Dark Lord. The man was silent, his face a complete wall of stone.

 

Harry took a deep breath, starting again. “He has been living for more than a hundred years. His set goal is to train Magi and make sure they don’t step in wizards’ politics. Magi are supposed to remain neutral.” He paused, just briefly.

 

“He gave me two choices; either stop following you and he’ll train me, or I could continue on following you and he’d destroy me.” Harry breathed in profoundly when he saw Tom’s expression turn dark. He quickly started up again. “I’m not saying I want to stop following you, Tom. I want the Dark to gain balance in this world and for the innocents to escape the Ministry. But I was thinking… if I stopped following you, you wouldn’t have a powerful Magus against you. He would stay out of the way. You may have a better chance at succeeding without me. All you have to do is say the word.”

 

“You wish to back away from me? From my cause?” The words were icy, steely, and not an ounce of comfort.

 

“No,” Harry denied hotly. “I didn’t say that. I just…” he trailed off, unable to find the right words to convince Tom. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not a good ally. I’m weak compared to him. I fear that I will make it harder for you—,”

 

His words were cut off as a light slap stung his cheek. Harry’s eyes widened and he turned to the Dark Lord in disbelief. “When you have finished drowning yourself in self-pity, you may take this potion. All of it.” The man slid the pink vial closer to Harry and then stood up. “I will wake you up in four hours to administer the other potion.”

 

Harry watched the man walk toward the door. Green eyes, still in disbelief, studied the man’s stiff posture. 

 

Harry didn’t know if Tom was just too stubborn and afraid to admit that there was another threat out there— a much bigger threat then he would have liked. Or if Harry really was drowning in self-pity.

 

“And Harry,” Tom turned around when he reached the door. The man assessed Harry with another unreadable expression. “I need you in this war.”

 

With that, the door shut quietly, casting Harry into his own thoughts.

 

After taking the potion, he fell asleep with a small smile.

 

Tom needed him.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry hadn’t realized three days had passed so quickly. He had been more tired then he had thought originally. The first day went by in a blur. Tom had shaken him awake and had administered the potion. Each time Harry had swallowed his due he passed out just as quickly. By the second day, he could see that Tom was beginning to worry. The potion was still taken, even after the Healer said to only take it the first day. 

 

Harry hadn’t complained. He had continued taking whatever Tom poured down his mouth and then surrendering to the blissful sleep.

 

And the sleep came easy and long. He never had trouble falling back asleep for hours and hours at a time.

 

But those were the first three days.

 

On his fourth day, at exactly seven in the morning, Harry woke up with renewed energy. His magic was back to full power and his headache was gone. It had been a long while since he’s had this much energy. And the thought of staying in bed all day didn’t appeal to him in the least.

 

“You’re awake,” the voice that came from the door wasn’t that of Tom, but of Narcissa. Harry sat up, surprised at her appearance. Only Tom had come in his room since his concussion, not even the Healer had stepped foot inside.

 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he greeted, feeling a bit uncomfortable having her see him like this. “Where…where’s Tom?” Harry’s voice was raspy from disuse.

 

Narcissa offered him a small smile. “Our Lord had to deal with a few loose ends with the Death Eaters and the imprisoned Unspeakable. It was past his due, he’s been here, with you for the past three days.” Her blue eyes observed the light blush on his cheeks. “We were concerned for you. Concussions aren’t something to dismiss so easily.”

 

Tom was by his side for three days? It seemed unlikely for the Dark Lord to hold such concern, but Harry took her word for it, nonetheless, feeling a bit…awkward.

 

The blond witch came to a stop next to his bed. Slowly, as if to earn his trust, she reached out to touch his hair. Harry sat stiffly, looking at her through lowered lids as she brushed aside his hair, gazing at the wound. “It looks a lot better,” she commented lightly. Harry wondered if he had been wrong to assume only Tom had been in the room. He had been so out of it, others could have entered.

 

But only Tom had been on the forefront of his mind. Odd how much the man was such an impact in his life.

 

“I feel a lot better,” he flashed a brief, strained smile. He wasn’t used to her proximity, especially when she was being so _gentle._ The Narcissa he knew was self-righteous and unemotional, a woman who prided herself with her charm and control. “Perhaps I could go outside…” Harry hinted at.

 

He cleared his throat as Narcissa brushed his bangs aside tenderly. It was the same action Tom had done the other day. Only, with Narcissa if felt almost maternal, with Tom… well…

 

His eyes concentrated on the blond woman. When Narcissa wasn’t wearing her cold expression, the woman actually looked attractive. “Then you shall,” she flashed him another large smile after she removed her fingers from his hair. “Right after I get some food in you.”

 

Harry blinked in surprise. He had expected Narcissa to take Tom’s orders and confine him into his room. Granted, the Healer said he could leave his bed after the second day, but the timeline hadn’t exactly been on point with how much sleep he had done recently. Still, he wanted to feel the warm sun on his skin and he needed _air_ and room to think without having to look at the walls.

 

Almost if reading his mind, Narcissa spoke.  “It is a beautiful day for you, child,” her tone was affectionate. She helped him sit up and steady him as the world spun. “A nice day in September, a bit chilly, but the sun makes up for it.”

 

Harry tried to give her a grin, but it turned into a grimace as he tried to stand. His legs were weak and his knees shook relentlessly. He clenched his jaw, trying not to show his weakness in front of her. His fingers knotted the covers of the bed to his side. It helped him a bit but Narcissa seemed to catch on. Her hands were around his small waist before he could do anymore damage.

 

“Just take it easy, Harry. You do not need to push yourself. Your legs will return in a short time.” 

 

He averted his head away from her. His eyes shut tightly, hating himself for being like this. He was weak _all_ the time. In battle, in health, even in conversation. He was an overall, pitiful wizard who needed… to toughen up a bit. At least Tom wasn’t here to see how pathetic he was.

 

It got him thinking about the events from a few days ago, with the Magus. He needed to think things through, especially the war and his part in it all. Even when he had been almost unconscious, he still remembered Tom confessing to Harry that he needed him in the war. It had touched him, truly, but even Harry realized he needed to do what was right, not what Tom _thought_ was right. Even Dark Lord’s could be wrong. 

 

However standing here, with his knees shaking, was not the best place to think over what the Magus had said.

 

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she broke the silence again. “You are a magnificent wizard, Harry.”

 

Clearing his expression, he turned to look at her. She stood a few inches taller than him, yet it didn’t look as if she were looking down at him. “Surely you’re just saying that, Mrs. Malfoy.” He offered her a tight grin, one of fluster.

 

The blond witch gave a light chuckle. “Call me Narcissa, Harry,” she informed him. “And if I have to remind you, you saved my life the day of the raid. Can I not look upon you with respect?” She was incredibly different from her son and her husband. But Harry remembered her a few years ago. She had been just as cold and closed off. So what had changed? Was it only because he saved her life?

 

Or was it something a bit deeper?

 

Before he could respond in an awkward fashion, she saved him. “Come on then, breakfast is waiting.”

 

With her slender arm around his waist, she ushered him upstairs.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Today couldn’t have been anymore beautiful.

 

Harry looked like an idiot as he plopped down in the middle of the grass. The backyard was just as stunning as the front of the house with rich and vibrant gardens, a few water fountains, and, of course, the Quidditch pitch.

 

After breakfast, Harry had slowly made his way into the backyard, relieving in the fact that no one was right beside him. He had time to himself now, and he would take full advantage, no matter _who_ could see him from the windows.

 

He had found a nice grassy patch to settle upon. A few willow trees were near him, but in front of him, nothing but green grass stretched. Narcissa had been right to assume that it was a bit chilly, but the sun was out, warming his skin when the cool wind got too much.

 

Sighing lightly, he laid down on his back, closing his eyes against the sun. Here, alone, where only the leaves and birds were heard, Harry finally had a chance to mediate and think on much needed issues.

 

The first and foremost was the debate of whether he should drop out of this war.

 

If that same question had been asked of him a few months ago, he would have no trouble dropping out to save his own arse and to be trained by another Magus. But now, after seeing the suffering and the prejudice, Harry knew he couldn’t back out. He felt as if he would be a coward.

 

On the other hand, if he stopped supporting Tom, the Dark side wouldn’t have a skilled Magus against them. They might stand more of a chance without Harry, without the other Magus. Surely they could hold their own against the Ministry… or perhaps not. Tom had confessed that he needed Harry in the war. It had to prove that the Dark was in need of the additional help. 

 

Harry’s lips twitched on their own accord as he remembered Tom’s murmured confession. It was nice to hear someone admit that they needed him, that they _wanted him_. The betrayal from Dumbledore had scarred him deeper then he’d like to admit to anyone. The old man had been there to comfort Harry during Sirius’ and his parents’ death… all the while knowing that the Ministry had killed them.

 

No.

 

That was his answer. He wouldn’t drop out of this war. He wouldn’t let Tom down. He wouldn’t let Remus Lupin down. And he wouldn’t let himself down. This is what he wanted. He wanted to make a difference in the world, consequences be damned. And what, exactly, were the consequences?

 

He would die.

 

Harry gave a deep moan in his throat, blinking open his eyes. He would readily admit that he had been suicidal a few months, even weeks earlier. But he was past that stage. He wasn’t suicidal, yet, the idea of being killed didn’t frighten him. Not when he was immortal now. Admittedly, the idea of death sounded peaceful, compared to living for years upon years.

 

Immortality was another issue he needed to confront mentally. How could he live forever while the people around him perished? Harry thought back to the Magi’s voice. It sounded like age old wisdom, like an old man, yet his face was that of a twenty year old. It was a difficult subject to grasp. He would forever remain in his prime while those around him grew old. If he fought in the war, there was a good chance the pain at staying forever young wouldn’t be an issue at all.

 

He could go into the battles, feeling like he had an advantage over his enemies. He could embrace death just as freely as Dumbledore used to preach. That should make him a bit more confident in battle. Right?

 

Thinking about not aging made his thoughts drift to Tom. The man had taught his parents at Hogwarts, yet he didn’t look a day older than Sirius. How was that? There were speculations from the students that Tom Riddle was a vampire but Harry doubted as much. The man’s fingers were cold, yes, but Harry had seen Tom angry before and there was no signs of fangs.

  
So could it be a charm he was using to cover his aging? Or was there something more?

 

“Concentrate,” Harry disciplined himself lightly. Tom Riddle’s slow aging wasn’t the direction Harry wanted to take. If there came a time that was right, Harry would question Tom about his seemingly immortality. But for now, he had to think on the war.

 

He wanted nothing better then to win this war for the Dark. For years, they had been the subservient beings to those of the Light. They have been misjudged and discriminated against. The Ministry held too much power over their oblivious people. It was a mess. And even though Harry was still a bit wary on Tom’s ideals for Muggles and Muggleborns, he would trust the man. On countless of occasions, Harry had placed his blind trust in the man, and as of yet, he hadn’t been scarred.

 

Hopefully it would remain as such.

 

That only brought him to his last concern.

 

Harry’s power, his magic.

 

Harry knew he would need to push himself over the next few days, strengthening his power and learning to control himself and his magic. He needed to work hard, and for once, Harry was excited to learn. He vowed he would do anything in these next few days in order to avoid a repeat of the last battle. He didn’t want to look as pathetic as he had during the last battle against the Magus.

 

“Potter,” the voice was hissed, almost furious.

 

Harry turned his head, his body coiling as he watched the Dark Lord stalk across the grounds toward him. Oddly enough, before the fear set in, Harry thought the man looked incredibly handsome then.

 

And then the fear took hold.

 

He didn’t want the bottom of his feet skinned. Merlin, no.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

“Where is he?” he leered down his nose at Narcissa. Across the dining table, Lucius tensed, looking over his wife in a protective manner. “I specifically told you to keep him in bed. And what do I find upon my return?” The blond witch didn’t even look deterred at his anger or crackling aura.

 

“Harry said he was feeling much better,” Narcissa looked calmly up at him. “I told him he should enjoy some fresh air—,”

 

Before she had finished, Tom swept rudely passed her and out the door. How was he to control his Magus if the boy found his way charming everyone in his path? Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t known for her concern at getting _fresh air_ , let alone granting needs to those she considered lower then herself.

 

The visit to his Death Eaters’ hideout had been civilized at best. Those wounded were recovering nicely. They expressed their heightened drive with the war, assuring him they haven’t lost their determination. Additionally, the number of fallen hadn’t been as significant as Tom thought it would be. Aurors and the Order members preferred stunning and capturing compared to slaughtering. The estimated total loss was close to fifteen. Callously, Tom knew it could have been worse, but he was pleased nonetheless. The number wasn’t big and he still had enough followers to strike at the Ministry again.

 

And interrogating the captured Unspeakable had been one of the highlights of the week for Tom. Unspeakables were always difficult to capture and especially interrogate. Unspeakables always had a way to wiggle out of interrogations. Before passing away, Rookwood had explained to Tom that small capsules of poison were always hidden in their, the Unspeakable’s, mouths. One crunch on the capsule would kill them within an instant. No secrets would be spoken.

 

But his Gem had stunned the Unspeakable too quickly for the wizard to react. Tom had searched the unconscious Unspeakable for the capsule and had removed it before he woke the man.

 

The interrogation today had gone smooth, smooth enough to put Tom in high spirits. His next plan of attack was planned and already set in action. And Merlin have mercy on the wizarding world for the shock they would find themselves in.

 

Naturally, his high spirits _couldn’t_ have lasted all day. Not when Harry was under his protection.

 

Merlin forbid having everything go smoothly where Harry was concerned. First, it was the boy’s doubts and self-pity. Tom had acknowledged that it would be expected, after the rough beating he experienced at the hands of the…other…Magus.

 

But Tom wasn’t prepared for Harry’s consideration of dropping out of the war. Even though Tom would have liked to think it was because Harry wanted to save his own arse, he was smart enough to know otherwise. The boy was pure, innocent, and damn too naive for his own good. Tom knew Harry was only considering dropping out of the war in order to save the Dark side any unnecessary trouble as they faced the Magus. It would get that specific enemy off their back.

 

However, Tom wouldn’t have any of that. He wanted and needed the boy. And it wasn’t all just because of the war.

 

Up ahead, he spotted the agile body lying lazily in the grass. Tom stopped short, controlling his emotions. He half expected to find Harry gone, taking it in his stubborn mind that it would be for the best to leave the war behind. Guiltily, that was why Tom had been so irate to discover Harry gone from bed. He had intended to keep a tight leash on the Magus, wanting to ensure that Harry would stay.

 

Except the boy was here now and he hadn’t run.

 

But that didn’t excuse the boy from just _waltzing_ outside as if he didn’t have any enemies that could easily slip through the Malfoy wards. _“Potter,”_ he hissed out, gathering his anger and pushing away the pleasure at seeing his Gem _here_. The Magus had willingly stayed put.

 

The boy’s body tensed and then the acidic green eyes turned to him. Tom came to an abrupt halt, unsure how to handle the… feelings that struck him at seeing the change in Harry. The boy, in his time outside, must have come to terms with a few things. It could clearly show on the child’s face.

 

Those green eyes were no longer carrying shadows, but a vivid and clear determination. They were back to their lovely glow, the very same glow Tom found himself attracted to. Strongly.

 

Clearing his throat, he traced the boy’s sprawled out form with his eyes, finding his groin tightening as he watched the small body stand up with reflexes and grace only a Quidditch Seeker could manage. There was a certain power around Harry that hadn’t been there before. His aura was stronger, more indomitable, almost if a part of Harry had awoken with his realizations.

 

Tom found himself advancing, his anger gone and in replace, lust. He had been the gentlemen to Harry, understanding the boy needed space and time. But seeing Harry so put together made Tom realize just how _ripe_ Harry was for the taking.

 

And he would take.

 

Quite selfishly.

 

“T-Tom,” Harry stuttered, his lips pursing so delightfully. “If you’ve come to skin the bottom of my feet I—,”

 

“Quite the contrary, my Gem,” Tom purred, taking the boy’s face in his hands like he had so many times before. Only this time, he brought the smaller wizard’s head closer, clashing their lips together. He couldn’t stop the pleased chuckle that vibrated through his chest. It was his own victory and one that tasted extremely sweet. 

 

His eyes cracked open, catching a glimpse at the wide green eyes. The reaction was to be expected, just as expected as the upcoming reaction. The green eyes narrowed angrily. Tom was sure Harry was ready to curse him on his arse, but Tom deepened the kiss greedily, moving his lips expertly against the slack ones.

 

Harry’s knees gave out and Tom kept him standing, holding him close. Perhaps it might have been a bit of shock to Harry, but it was far from a surprise to Tom. Not when he had been feeling the strong, conflicting emotions for Harry as soon as he realized the boy was no longer a lazy student, but a determined young man, willing to put his life on the line for Tom’s cause and for the Dark wizards.

 

And the Magus tasted so good.

 

His fingers traced the flawless and smooth skin and his chest tightened in something stronger then lust— affection.

 

He didn’t think he could let go anytime soon.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

At first, Harry’s mind was blank and void. How else could he even begin to describe _this_? This… admittedly good kiss that was full of power and passion. Harry was experienced in kissing females, but never males. It was a world of difference, standing here, in another man’s arms. The arms that held him weren’t fragile and motiveless; instead, they were strong and possessive. Harry knew the hand stroking his face was just as domineering as the arm around his waist.

 

It was in the man’s character to be so controlling. And it came through in the kiss.

 

And what did Harry do in response?

 

His knees went weak and he relied more heavily on Tom’s controlling tendencies to keep him locked in the kiss. Because, even if his mind was whirling, so confused, he didn’t want the kiss to end. Right now it was so simple to keep their lips locked then when they had to face each other afterward.

 

And that afterward came too quickly for Harry.

 

They pulled apart, their eyes fluttering open to stare each other down in a hazy lust. It would be in Harry’s character to push Riddle away and spit insults at the Dark Lord. How could the man use him like one of his playthings? But something stopped him short. Tom’s expression was what Harry found himself bemused over. The man wasn’t smirking smugly nor arrogantly. Instead, the Dark Lord had almost a wistful expression— uncharacteristic on his behalf.

 

Harry gave a heavy sigh, gathering his strength and pulling away. He felt his cheeks grow red and that’s when Tom’s smirk grew into one of arrogance. Somehow, Harry found that his cue to react.

 

“What was that?” he spluttered, his hands in the air in exasperation. “Do you find it _amusing_ to take advantage of me like that?”

 

“Take advantage?” Tom purred in question, his eyebrow cocking. “Whatever do you mean, Harry? Do you think yourself weak and vulnerable?”

 

“ _No,”_ Harry growled. “That’s not what I said.”

 

“Then why do you assume you’re being taken advantage of?” Tom challenged back. His crimson eyes taunted Harry, taking no pity on the flustered teenager. “Truthfully, Harry,” the man changed his tone, relaxing his posture. “I’m attracted to you. I’ve been attracted to you. And I don’t find it comical in the least to hide it. That being said, I want to be with you, romantically, sexually.”

 

Harry was half expecting Tom to say ‘savvy?’ but the man remained quiet, waiting for Harry to respond. Outwardly, the Dark Lord didn’t seem too worked up over the possibility of Harry’s rejection. Why would he? The man reeked of pure confidence. But Harry was smart enough to know how Slytherins worked. Their expressions might not correlate with their inner thinkings. Who knew if Tom really was confident and collected?

 

“Why do I have the feeling that if I say I don’t want to be with you, you’ll continue badgering me about it?”

 

Tom’s lips thinned before stretching into a lipless smile. “You know me too well, Harry,” the man whispered. He took another advancing step forward, reaching out to caress the side of Harry’s cheek. Harry allowed the man access, keeping his eyes narrowed in suspicion and uncertainty.

 

What did he really think of being romantically involved with Tom? If he was truthful with himself, he found himself almost thrilled… aroused to be with someone as powerful and self-assured as Tom. He wouldn’t lie to himself. He was attracted to Tom, seeing the man as handsome and equally as cold, a man who could take care of himself if the situation required it. But Tom was also one who hid himself behind a mask at times.

 

Nevertheless, Harry had also seen beneath that mask on countless of occasions throughout the summer when Tom took him under his wing.

 

Merlin…

 

He can’t believe he was actually considering being with _Tom Riddle._

 

“There are conditions,” Harry drawled just as arrogantly, pushing away Tom’s hand. The Dark Lord cracked a grin at Harry’s business-like tone. “One, if you _ever_ see another while we are together, I will kick your arse. And don’t think I won’t, because I do not permit infidelity, not matter how quick and unromantic it is.”

 

Tom’s expression grew dark. “That is acceptable, simply because that goes for you as well. I will kill whomever you lay with.” There was no bluff detected in the man’s voice, nothing but brutal honesty. It only took a moment of hesitation before Harry gave a cool nod, his eyes becoming hooded. He had no intention to cheat on Tom, merely because he knew how dangerous the man could get. “What are your other terms?”

 

“I will not bend to your will.” Harry grounded out. “I am inexperienced with men, I admit that. You will not _push_ me.”

 

“All sounds satisfactory,” Tom agreed full heartedly, thankfully not making the conversation anymore awkward then it had to be. Instead, he made it awkward on a whole other playing field. His hand splayed Harry’s cheek, cradling it.

 

Harry tensed at the physical contact. Earlier, when Tom had always taken a hold of his chin or face, it had been different, only because Harry knew what Tom’s true intentions were now. “You don’t need to construct relationships like they’re business, Harry. Just let it flow naturally. Our chemistry will run the course for us.” That damned smirk. Harry eyed it distastefully as it came closer, yet he did nothing about it as Tom’s lips traced his cheek.

 

Shocks of pure pleasure ran the length of Harry’s spine and he arched into Tom like a wanton whore. Merlin, he was extremely weak when it came to Tom’s sexual advantages. Hadn’t he just preached he wasn’t ready for anything sexual? And here he was, not finding the idea of sex with Tom so repulsive.

 

Harry grew a backbone and reached out his own hand to run down Tom’s face. The man stiffened at the alien touch, yet relaxed a moment later as Harry stroked his jaw line. Small, stubby hairs tickled Harry’s palm and he found a small smile crossing his lips at the sensation.

 

“I have good news, my Gem,” Tom started, bringing Harry back to this world. “News you would most like to hear.”

 

“I’m open to anything that involves _good_ news, Tom,” Harry removed his hand, still feeling a bit awkward at this relationship and grateful that Tom changed the course of the conversation.

 

He was startled when his left hand was taken by Tom’s hands. The man brought his knuckles up to his mouth, caressing the back of his hand with his lips. Crimson eyes smoldered as they surveyed Harry. “I know where the Unspeakable labs are located. And I know just the course of our next action… be prepared, Harry.”

 

**\--CBS--**

 

“Rita Skeeter, darling, so nice to meet the youngest Seeker of our time,” the blond haired woman eyed Harry like a prized specimen. Harry grimaced at the sight of her acidic green robes and crimson nails that appeared more like talons than any normal finger. “Tell me; is it true you broke into the Ministry last summer?”

 

Harry whirled around, staring in Tom in disbelief. The man was sitting behind his desk, observing the interaction with barely hidden amusement. “This is your idea? _Her_?”

 

“Her,” Tom nodded sharply. “And a few other reporters. I called them here and warned them of a story that was so large it would have the wizarding world crumbling.” Rita Skeeter perked up at Tom’s words, her pencil thin eyebrows rising in interest.

 

“You’re going to tell them.” Harry stated, briefly thinking how genius it was before he became slightly sore that Tom didn’t have the _decency_ to inform him of this. “And how do you think they will believe you?”

 

“My sweet,” Tom purred at Harry, casting Rita a dark look. “We are simply going to bring them with us to the labs. You remember me telling you we would be going to the labs today, correct? Has it slipped your mind so quickly?”

 

Harry cast him a dark look, becoming more irritated with the man as the seconds passed. “I’m not dense,” he muttered threateningly. “I knew we were going to the labs tonight, I didn’t know you were bringing reporters.”

 

“Do you think you could give me an _exclusive_ , Mr. Riddle? Just between you and I?” Rita purred seductively, casting a lustful gaze on Tom. She adjusted her robes, flashing her ample cleavage in the Dark Lord’s direction.

 

Annoyed at her flirting, Harry clenched his jaw. Tom’s crimson gaze stayed locked on Harry, not giving Rita the time of day. But Harry never stayed around for Tom’s response; he stalked from the room, irritation flickering about him in angry waves.

 

Currently, they were not situated at the Malfoy manor, for safety and privacy reasons. Instead, they had apparated at Tom’s house, the meeting grounds for the Death Eaters to arrive, and apparently, for the reporters to arrive as well. There was already a good amount of Death Eaters present, waiting patiently for the time to come for another battle. Their goal tonight was to help the prisoners escape the labs and destroy the labs as much as possible.

 

Harry had been ecstatic when Tom told him those plans. _He_ would be playing a large role in destroying the labs and he couldn’t wait. His magic was humming beneath his skin, anxious to be put to good use. Ever since the day Harry and Tom got together romantically, Harry had been training. His training took place in a small room, beneath the Malfoy manor. Tom hadn’t known of his aggressive training, the Dark Lord had been too busy the last few days to even take notice of Harry’s progression.

 

In fact, Harry barely got a chance to speak with Tom. The man was always running.

 

The whole _romantic_ thing between the two was rather dull and void. No caresses, no kisses, no whispered seductive words… it was both a blessing and curse at the same time. Was Harry being an idiot if he missed the Dark Lord’s overwhelming presence?

 

Granted, he was infuriated with the man because he hadn’t _seen_ the Dark Lord for a good week. Lucius and Narcissa had brought him here today, to Tom’s manor. It was the first time seeing the Dark Lord in days. Harry had ever right to be irritated with the man.

 

Harry curled his hands over the railing of the balcony, looking down at the parlor beneath. His eyes traced the Death Eaters, watching as they mingled and expressed their animation for the battle before them. Sometimes he felt so… unwelcome, so alien to this cause.

 

“Do you not approve of my action by bringing the reporters here?” Tom’s voice cut through Harry’s dark thoughts.

 

The boy turned to look at the Dark Lord over his shoulder. For once, Harry was the one in the shadows, covered by the darkness. He could see the Dark Lord clearly from the light coming from the open door to his study. In the distance, he could see Rita flittering around in the study, looking around and no doubt snooping.

 

“Does it truly matter what I think, Tom?” Harry questioned seriously. “ _You_ are the Lord, not I.” He turned away from the searching crimson eyes, catching a glimpse of Katie Bell and a few Gryffindors crowded around together. Brief relief washed through him. She had survived the last battle.

 

“I may be the Dark Lord, but you are my partner.”

 

Harry’s shoulders stiffened and he cast a cold look at Tom. “In which way, Tom? In bed or in this war? It’s clearly not the latter.” Crimson eyes widened before narrowing into slits. The man clearly wasn’t expecting Harry’s sharp tongue.

 

“My Lord?” a voice broke through the thickening tension. Harry turned to see Lucius standing a bit uncomfortably on the stair landing, eyeing the two wizards with apprehension. “The other reporters have arrived. Should I assist them to your study?” 

 

Harry turned his back on the conversation and started to make his way down the stairs.

 

 _“Don’t turn your back to me,”_ the voice was heavy with a temper and the air crackled with raw magic. The words weren’t spoken in Parseltongue, but it resembled a clear, hissing quality.

 

Harry paused just briefly, feeling the brief stab of fear before it washed away into cold determination. He had been alone for a long week, dwelling in his magic and using all his energy on getting himself ready to face the Magus once again. Tom’s temper seemed oddly docile now that Harry had accepted his gift as a Magus and grew some confidence.

 

Deciding to shock the shit out of the man, Harry flashed the man a glance over his shoulder, a slow smirk spreading his lips. _“I am your partner, aren’t I, Tom? I should be able to walk away when I please.”_ He hissed it. It was the first time in ages that he spoke Parseltongue out loud without having to fear the consequences.

 

The temper around Tom diminished rapidly and the crimson eyes widened for the second time that night.

 

Feeling oddly pleased with himself, Harry stepped into the shadows. With his magic, he became one with them, disappearing from the men’s sight. He chuckled, creeping down the stairs in his disembodied form. 

 

Even if this past week hadn’t spelt well for his relationship with Tom, it _had_ given Harry the energy and the poise he needed in this war. It had taken two days for Harry to realize that his Magus was a gift that could be nurtured the raw power into his own flavor. He could have imagination, creativity… but somehow, even he knew, despite his growing confidence, that one week couldn’t possibly help him against the other Magus.

 

He needed more time, but time wasn’t on their side. Harry feared he wouldn’t be ready for the ultimate showdown between the blond Magus and himself.

 

Until that time, he would keep working hard. If the Magus showed up tonight, then Harry would give it his all.

 

From the shadows, he watched as the reporters entered. He recognized a few of the more popular journalists, taking a mental note on their expressions as they walked through the entrance hall. They were wary and suspicious, yet curious. Curiosity tended to run someone’s actions, whether it was for the good or the bad. They most likely heard through their own columns that Tom Riddle was a growing Dark Lord. Yet they came here anyway because Tom had no doubt excited their interest.

 

Harry just wished the man could have shared this bit of information with him.

 

He became solid again just as Lucius ushered the group upstairs to Tom’s study. The man would tell them of the Ministry and the Unspeakables, and for proof, he would bring them along for the ride.

 

The labs would hit the paper in early morning, sending the world spinning.

 

“You seem tense,” the voice observed from behind Harry.

 

Harry turned, eyeing Narcissa Malfoy. With the week that Tom had been absent, she had always been near, hovering and making sure Harry ate and took care of himself. He had a growing respect for Narcissa. “I’m… anxious more than tense.”

 

The woman gave a thin smile, a knowing smile. “May I ask why?”

 

Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking passed her toward the stairs leading to Tom’s study. “I need to get to the labs soon. I wish to liberate Remus Lupin. The more time we waste, the greater the threat of his death.”

 

Ever so regal and poised, Narcissa reached toward Harry and tried to flatten his hair. Harry allowed the action, used to her behavior by now. “I think, Harry, that if Remus has surveyed this long, he would hold on until we get there.” She offered him a comforting smile. “I’m happy that Draco is away at school, I think this mission is too dangerous for a boy so young. Like you. I worry for you.”

 

It was always a puzzlement for Harry when it came to Narcissa’s concern for him. The woman _knew_ he was a Magus, yet she still worried for him. “I will be more than fine, Mrs. Malfoy.” He paused, clearing his throat at her stern look. “Narcissa, I mean.”

 

“Mr. Potter,” Harry pulled away from Narcissa, eyeing Lucius. The man bowed his head, his respect showing through with the bent neck. “Our Lord requests your presence in his study.”

 

Harry refused to roll his eyes upwards. The mature side of him respected that Tom was at least _now_ trying to include Harry in his plans. But the immature side, the real seventeen year old inside, refused to bend to Tom’s order.

 

“You can tell him he’s gone this long without my assistance; he can handle a few reporters.” Lucius looked utterly horrified at that, but he covered it quickly before turning his heel and climbing the stairs once again.

 

“You must watch your tongue against the Dark Lord, Harry.” Narcissa began, her worry for him growing once again. “Our Lord has the habit of taking his anger out on his followers.”

 

“He won’t, not this time. Lucius is too much a value to him. Besides, Tom needs to be put in his place.”

 

Narcissa tipped back her head and laughed, the musical tone floating through the corridors. “That’s what I say about Lucius.” She brushed his bangs away before leading him toward the foyer where the rest of the followers were waiting patiently. “Why don’t you keep me company, Harry? I find your presence entertaining.”

 

He gladly went with her, glad to be of service to _someone_.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry leaned back against the pillar, waiting for the Dark Lord to make his appearance. It had been more than an hour since Tom locked himself and the reporters in the _study_. What the bloody hell was he telling them?

 

Narcissa was sitting regally next to him, her boredom not showing on her face. Harry wasn’t as skilled at she was. He found himself pacing at times, only to stop when Narcissa scolded him. He was too anxious to just sit around and wait when there were men and women suffering in the labs.

 

Before Harry could charge into Tom’s study, he was aware of the shift of atmosphere. The Death Eaters all became silent and bowed their heads. Still, murmurs shot through the crowd when they saw the reporters and the cameras around a few of their necks. Masks went on quickly, almost too quick for Harry to even register what was happening. He was standing at the back of the room. He couldn’t see Tom come in, or the majority of the reporters.

 

Nonetheless, he was content at the back of the room.

 

“The reporters are merely here on request,” Tom’s voice came out silkily as he tried to calm his follower’s concern. “I have explained the situation and they are willing to write what they see at the labs and take photos of the evidence. They have come to aid us, to get our word out to the public that the Ministry isn’t as clean cut as they claim to be.”

 

The murmuring grew louder, more pleased.

 

“I do not want you to focus on the reporters. Your main job is to get the prisoners _out_ and portkeyed away from the labs. You all have a handful of portkeys on your person. I expect you to activate the portkey successfully. We want our patients to arrive at our fort where a handful of Healers await, not at an unknown destination. We are mainly approaching the Unspeakable lair in order to free our people. Staying to fight is last on our itinerary.”

 

That was also news to Harry. He had thought Tom was looking forward to meet the Ministry and the Order at the labs. Apparently Tom just wanted the prisoners out.

 

“You are to be quick and efficient. I want a few wizards surrounding the reports for protection. McGlagen, Orlen, Yaxley, Malfoy, and Harry… you will be guarding the reporters from any attacks—,”

 

“No,” Harry spoke loudly in denial.

 

All heads whipped toward him, staring at him in disbelief. Harry kept his stance; his chin held high as Tom finally came to view. “Excuse me?” Tom asked steely, already on edge with Harry, no doubt.

 

“I said, _no_. I would prefer to lead a group inside the labs, especially the Lycan ward.” He challenged Tom with his green stare, daring for the man to deny. The man would likely tell him not to get personal on this mission, not to get his hopes up. But Harry couldn’t care a less.

 

“I need strong protection around the reporters,” Tom argued back rationally. “I need you around them.” Tom added in a soft undertone, expressing his personal side. Harry shook his head, not believing the man. Narcissa curled her hand on his shoulder, a calming gesture. Crimson eyes traced his hard expression before turning back to the followers. “I expect you all to remain level headed. You will all be transported through your Dark Marks to the location.”

 

Malfoy and a few others stepped forward to grasp the reporters. They didn’t have Dark Marks so they would be unable to transport like the Death Eaters. Harry remained stubbornly still next to Narcissa, trusting her to help him transport to the desired location. He refused to give Tom a glance as the man motioned him up front. Instead, he curled his arm around Narcissa, keeping her in front of him.

 

Her chuckle was heard, yet she said nothing and tightened her own arm around Harry.

 

It wasn’t long before he felt the tug and the sensation of side-long apparation. He felt nauseous as he landed heavily on the ground. Luckily, he remained upright, not making a fool out of himself by falling to his knees.

 

The evening was darkening, and all around, dark robes were appearing around the perimeter of the labs. The labs were moved somewhere north of Scotland and the brisk weather was even colder here. Harry shuddered internally, feeling riled up. From his position, he could see the rather dank and plain building. It was a grey rectangle, long and uncanny.

 

“I suggest you stay between the five of us,” a cold and disgusted voice rang out.

 

Harry looked to the side, watching as Lucius Malfoy led the reporters over to Harry with McGlagen, Orlen, and Yaxley by his side. Lucius’ pale eyes moved to Harry, studying his expression, but the younger wizard remained stoic. He wasn’t the only one that didn’t look pleased to be on protecting duty. Especially to reporters who seemed to fidget and shudder each time they looked at the labs.

 

Once the group arrived at a stop next to Harry, he drew himself up, looking the reporters in the eye. If he _had_ to protect these pathetic wizards and witches, then he would _lead_. “I expect you to be quick in your assessment of the labs.” His tone was icy, even to his own ears. The eyes of the reporters quickly traveled over to him. Some looked down their nose at him, not looking impressed as he ordered them around. “If you stray from _me_ or the others, then you will find yourself under crossfire and I will do nothing to help you.”

 

Rita pulled herself into a stiff posture, glancing at Harry with superiority. Before she could open her mouth, Harry continued.

 

“And you four,” he looked at the Death Eaters in the eyes. “I am leading.”

 

Yaxley and McGlagen both shifted into that of aggressors, their eyes darkening at the order. “You think you get to lead, little boy?”

 

Harry’s jaw clenched painfully and with his magic, he ripped off Yaxley’s mask harshly and a ring of short and non-threatening fire blossomed in a circle around the heavy-set man. “Would you like me to repeat myself?” Harry hissed, bearing his teeth. “This time with a small _reminder_?” His temper peaked and the fire grew hotter and taller.

 

The Death Eater yowled, looking fearful at the fire. Last raid, he had been burned by the other Magus’ fire. Harry wouldn’t hesitate to set the man on fire again.

 

The fire around Yaxley disappeared with a sharp wave from Riddle’s wand. The Dark Lord calmly made his way over, looking far from impressed. “My Lord,” Yaxley panted, his maskless eyes pleading with Tom. Harry stood there calmly, not afraid in the least of Tom’s reaction. “I just expressed my concern in the boy’s leadership. I believe a more experienced man should lead our small group. I am only concerned with the reporter’s safety.”

 

“The hell you are,” Harry murmured darkly.

 

Crimson eyes, so blank in any emotion, turned to him. The Dark Lord’s gaze swept the length of his body before turning to look at Yaxley. “I put Harry in charge, Yaxley, because I knew he would be the best to lead. Are you expressing your disproval of my orders?”

 

The man paled, shaking his head.

 

Tom dismissed them, turning his back and gathering his Death Eaters. Harry cast Yaxley a smug look and approached the labs a bit closer. He expected the reporters and the other four to remain close to him; after all he _was_ the leader.

 

The Death Eaters were arranged in a large group behind Tom, spreading out at the sides. They were approaching the labs, their wands at the ready, portkeys in their robes. They were going to liberate the prisoners.

 

But all things couldn’t go as smoothly as Harry had imagined.

 

He was almost as Tom’s side before he was stopped in his tracks by a multiple of cracks and pops. Before them, Order members, Aurors, and Unspeakables stood, ready and seemingly waiting for them. Their wands were raised, ready to cast within seconds. It was too much of a shock for anyone to react for a few seconds.

 

“It had been a trap,” Tom murmured softly to Harry. “We need to retreat.”

 

Harry shook his head, unable to harbor the crushing devastation that ran through him. He would not be stopped from saving the innocent men and women again. “I’ll clear a path,” he growled, unwavering.

 

And before Tom could stop him, Harry gave a strangled cry, his emotions running high. He charged at the waiting enemies, drawing up his magic.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

Harry was so driven, so determined to save those suffering inside the labs, that he took it out on the piles upon piles of Aurors and Order members. He had no mercy, not one ounce of pity when he realized that he had killed those closest to him and his magic. With void eyes, he watched as they went down, their lifeless eyes staring up at him in accusing, in shock.

 

“Merlin, fuck,” he heard Yaxley whisper behind him in alarm, no doubt of Harry’s power.

 

Harry trotted, feeling a few Death Eaters follow behind him. Tom was ushering half his army with Harry, determined to keep the other half with him to fight off the Light side. The bright side to this seemingly surprise attack? There was no blond Magus as of yet. But Harry wouldn’t jinx himself, he knew there was a large possibility that the Magus could show up in a matter of seconds.

 

His wand was burning warmly in his left hand at the power he had used. His wand was the conductor, channeling his power into a more controlled matter. It wasn’t a surprise that his phoenix core grew warm with the more magic he used.

 

Harry turned, creating a bubble of magic around the reporters in order to ward off hexes and curses thrown at them. They didn’t deserve that much protection, but Harry thought Tom would have appreciated it anyway. After all, the wizarding world would be in doubt after the story came out. They would panic, they would be in fear, and in turn, the Light side wouldn’t be as strongly united against Tom and _his_ army.

 

As he reached the entrance to the labs, he raised his wand at the Unspeakable who guarded the door. The white cloaked wizard didn’t outwardly appear frightened as he threw the clear sphere at Harry with a precise speed. Harry was serene, and his reflexes were up to speed because of it.

 

With a sharp wave of his burning wand, the ball exploded in mid-air, demolishing in the face of the Unspeakable. The white robbed man collapsed, blood seeping from his face. Harry swallowed down his nausea, stepping over the body and entering the labs.

 

“You heard the Dark Lord,” he shouted over his shoulder to the Death Eaters and the reporters. He blinked back when he realized that there _was_ half of Tom’s army with him. Briefly, quickly, he was honored that Tom trusted him with his follower’s servitude. But his composure and impassive attitude slipped back over his admiration. “We need to get all the prisoners out. Portkey them away quickly and hurry to the next one. We need to get back out here to assist Lord Voldemort.”

 

He took note on the few Aurors and Unspeakables following them. Harry pursed his lips, entering inside the labs. He ushered for the followers and the reports to hurry passed him. Once his group had fully entered, he spread his magic around the entrance, feeling a bit guilty at the consequences the Aurors would find themselves in if they tried to enter.

 

Within seconds, he finished and took a shaky step backward. To prove his Magi powers were successful, the first Auror attempted to enter…

 

His scream pierced Harry’s ears and the young Magus backed away guiltily, watching as the Auror was skinned alive as soon as he crossed over into the labs.

 

Harry turned his back on the scene. It would take the Unspeakable and Aurors a bit of time and magical strength to break through his hex on the door. However, if any Death Eaters tried to enter, it would allow them to pass without harm because of the Dark Mark stained on their forearms.

 

“What is the hold up?” Harry growled, seeing the Death Eaters crowded around the first door that no doubt led to a few prison cells. On the ground, three bodies laid. Two of the three bodies where Unspeakables, both of which were dead by someone’s wand. And the third body was a convulsing Death Eater.

 

Lucius turned to Harry, his pale eyes assessing the smaller. “We cannot enter without doing self-harm.” A pale hand motioned to the convulsing Death Eater. The man’s eyes, through his mask, were rolled up in the back of his head. “The Unspeakables warded the door before we killed them.”

 

Harry’s eyes took in the tremoring wizard, watching in slight fascination as drool and blood entwined together on the floor next to the man’s mouth. “Take the man’s portkeys,” Harry ordered, watching as Death Eater scrambled to do his bidding. The portkeys, small sphere balls that looked similar to marbles, were taken from the convulsing man. “And portkey him away to the fort where the Healers are, _quickly_.”

 

“We don’t have enough time to save every man, Harry,” Lucius’ voice cut sharply through the man’s painful gurgling.

 

Harry ignored him, watching as the Death Eater, who had gathered the portkeys, activated it with his wand and pressed it into the convulsing man’s neck. In seconds, the Death Eater disappeared, hopefully into an experienced Healer’s hands. Harry looked up at Lucius’ exasperated expression, brushing passed the man in order to study the door. Even with naked eyes he could spot the magic from the Unspeakables licking the door guarding the prisoners.

 

With a steady hand, he pressed his wand to the ward, ignoring the Death Eater’s fearful mutterings. They weren’t at all worried _for_ Harry, but worried about a strong leader in danger of becoming too wounded to protect them. Harry though it amusing. However, the majority _were_ self-preserving Slytherins, after all.

 

The ward buckled under his magic before dissolving all together. “Hurry in,” Harry opened the door for the Death Eaters, watching as they rushed inside. He took special note in the reporters’ expressions. He had seen inside the human ward before and it had disturbed him for days. Seeing so called ‘Light’ wizards and witches enter and gasp was slightly amusing.

 

Their expressions were that of shock and doubt. It took the photographers a long few moments before they took pictures. Slowly, as if they really didn’t want to take such proof of the Ministry’s wrongdoings, they walked around the room. They took pictures of the humans clawing desperately at the Plexiglas, begging and crying for release. Harry made himself watch as the prisoners screamed in both joy and overwhelming ecstasy as they realized they were being rescued.

 

Their eyes… they were incredibly haunted, but a bit of spark shown through as their cages were opened and Death Eaters presented them with a portkey to salvation. Most of them were bald, exaggerating their malnutrition and lack of sleep. A few even vomited on the ground, too excited to hold in the little contents they had in their stomachs.

 

It broke Harry’s heart, seeing humans this way. He could only imagine what the Death Eaters were feeling as bodies, which were all bone and skin, launched themselves at their rescuers in pure joy and gratefulness. Even Lucius Malfoy looked a bit uncomfortable and hesitant, almost gentle, as he removed the women and men from his robes and pressed the marble-like portkey in their palms.

 

Sadly, there were a few prisoners who couldn’t register what was happening around them. They were drugged or too far gone in their minds to process that they were now free. Those, who were void, must have either been in the labs for a good majority of their lives, or they had been presented with a god-awful experiment.

 

“Please,” a small voice whispered brokenly. Harry turned to his right, spotting a young boy around his age rocking back and forth. The grey eyes were pale in color, reminding Harry vividly of Sirius. “Help me?” Even if the boy was around Harry’s age, he spoke soft, almost like a lost child.

 

Harry didn’t have any portkeys on him, but he unlocked the boy’s prison just to assure the child that even he could escape. The boy launched his frail body at Harry, bawling in his robes. Harry was vaguely aware of a camera flashing in his direction, but he ignored it in favor of running his palm across the child’s scalp. “You’re safe, you’re ok,” he whispered comfortingly. He couldn’t even begin to understand what these men and women went through at the hands of the Unspeakables.

 

“Go find a wizard who has a portkey,” Harry pried the boy from his body, ushering toward a Death Eater who had just finished giving out a portkey. The clear blue eyes looked at him just a bit longer before turning and getting a prized portkey.

 

Harry went to the next cell on the other side of the room, looking inside to see an older woman. She was huddled at the back of her cell, her body slumped weakly. Wrinkles dressed her cheeks and around her eyes, all frowning lines, no smile lines…. it was to be expected.

 

As he opened her cell, her dim dark eyes looked up at Harry, a small smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “You look remarkably like your mother,” she murmured, her voice weathered and old. Harry stiffened at her statement, hurrying toward her as her torso tipped forward in fatigue. She didn’t look well, not in the least. “I can tell by your eyes, child.”

 

Harry crouched down before her, placing his left hand to her forehead. She wasn’t hot, but her eyes were dim with sickness… with death. “We’ll get you out of here,” he reassured her. He didn’t know who she was, but somehow, she knew who he was. Either that, or she was delirious, uttering nonsensical words.

 

Being able to pick her up in his arms proved how light she was. He wasn’t very strong or burly himself, yet he carried her bridal style toward Lucius. The man surveyed the situation, already tapping his wand against the portkey.

 

If Harry wasn’t so pressed for time, he might have gotten her name or continued to reassure her before she disappeared. Instead, he coldly swept down the length of the cell doors when his burden was lightened; making sure the Death Eaters rescued everyone. “Hurry,” he ordered darkly to those Death Eaters still scrambling. “We don’t have much time before the Unspeakables break through the wards.”

 

He was already making his way to the farthest door. The door was inside the human ward, at the far end, and Harry already knew it was the creature ward. Not only Lycans, but vampires and elves… anything that was remotely Dark. Pausing just briefly, he gathered his emotions quickly. The Death Eaters, who had successfully gathered all the humans, were just a step behind him, watching his every move. If they saw any weakness on Harry’s behalf, they wouldn’t take him seriously. And that’s not what he wanted at the moment, in the middle of a battle.

 

His palms hit the door, swinging the lab door open. The strong and toxic smell of urine and vomit greeted his nose. He did all he could from not cringing away from both the smell and the loud whines and pleads. The Death Eaters weren’t so conspicuous with their distaste with the smell and noise. Their eyes dimmed and their shoulders hunched forward as if it would help them ward of the smells.

 

For a moment, they hesitated.

 

Harry knew, even if the Death Eaters preached changing the world, that most of them still harbored discrimination against magical creatures.

 

 _“Hurry,_ ” Harry barked, quickly setting them in motion. 

 

He paced the aisle, trying to see past the half-transformed wolves and the disfigured creatures into their human sides. They were, perhaps, worse off than the humans. Their whines and pleads were that of animals, perhaps their human too far gone. Harry swallowed passed the vomit, not understanding how human beings could _do_ something like this to innocents.

 

Their cages were small, smaller than the humans, and they weren’t clean. Most the werewolves had silver cages, their wastes lying next to them.

 

“Remus?” Harry whispered brokenly, studying the werewolves. Compared to the human ward, the creature ward was much smaller in numbers. It was almost if the Unspeakables had trouble capturing the Dark creatures. Either they had trouble capturing the creatures or they killed off the Dark creatures faster, using harder experiments. 

 

There wasn’t a Remus Lupin in sight.

 

His fingers splayed the last cage, empty and cleaned. The cold metal rivaled the cold sensation spreading through his chest and stomach. He blinked back the overwhelming tears; not believing his reason to come here was _gone_. Already dead and forgotten.

 

“Harry!” Harry whirled around, his heart in his throat, but he quickly masked his expression when he realized it had been Lucius who had called him out. “The Unspeakables are pouring inside—,”

 

Panic seemed to stretch throughout the room after the blond announced the Unspeakables’ approach.  And the Death Eaters had every right to be frightened. They would be _cornered_ in this room within seconds.

 

Harry turned to watch as the Death Eaters scrambled to give the remaining creatures the portkeys. Just as the last werewolf was taken away, Harry elbowed his way passed the Death Eaters’ bodies and to the door, slamming it shut just as the Unspeakables reached them. Quickly giving it a heavy ward, Harry backed away from it, realizing they were cornered and caged.  Just like the animals had been previously.

 

He turned back to the Death Eaters, their eyes wide through their masks. Some where fisting their wands, ready to fight. Merlin, bless them for their determination. But Unspeakables weren’t average wizards, they were _elite_.

 

Harry stood tall, eyeing the reporters and Tom’s army. The reporters were still covered in Harry’s magical ward, their expressions white with illness, with shock.

 

“I want to thank you for your hard work. Because of all of you, innocents who have been imprisoned and violated, now have a chance at freedom.” The door behind him buckled with magic. It wouldn’t be a surprise that their last barrier was demolished within moments. “Give the reporters a portkey and then I want you all to portkey yourself to the lair.”

 

They looked at him as if he were dense.

 

Harry hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Did you hear what I said? I said portkey yourself away.” They jumped into action at his risen tone. The reporters disappeared first, the witches and wizards’ faces a chalky white.

 

The Death Eaters all paused in motion as one of their men presented Harry with a marble-like portkey. “No,” Harry shook his head. “I’m not through here. Leave before I force you to leave. Now.”

 

Their hesitation still lingered, but as the door cracked behind Harry, they began to disappear. Lucius, as predicted was the last to leave. His grey eyes observed Harry through his mask. “Even if your werewolf wasn’t here, Harry, there are still multiple of people relying on your safety back, our Lord especially.”

 

“Lucius,” Harry warned, unable to think about Remus’ absence. “Leav—,”

 

He was cut off as debris blew from the door. Quickly, with graceful reflexes, he was at the farthest wall, standing in front of Lucius. With his right hand hanging lazily and uselessly at his side, Harry put all his tension in his left arm as he held up his wand.

 

The first Unspeakable that stepped through was already on the ground, his heart stopped with just a single thought from the Magus. It took more concentration and energy to kill like that, but Harry found it painless for his enemies.

 

“There’s the little Magus,” one of the white robed Unspeakables murmured. And with an arm that would make any Beater or Chaser envious, he tossed a disk-like object toward Harry. With Harry’s sharp eyes, he noted the shimmering blades at the edges. Harry was smart enough to know that the disk wasn’t just a sharp object, but something that contained magic inside that could rival any Magi’s.

 

The shield he put up shimmered like clear water and it bounced the object right back at the Unspeakables. Rather surprisingly, the disk fell short, landing at the Unspeakables’ feet- almost as if the object sensed its creators and chose not to destroy them.

 

“Lucius,” Harry whispered dangerously. “I’ll give you the count of three to leave before I burn your pretty blond hair to crisp.”

 

“Do you vow to return in one piece?” The man was stubborn and pigheaded as he ordered Harry around with his cool and collected voice. It was almost if he hadn’t even taken note of the Unspeakables and Aurors in front of him.

 

“Yes,” Harry hissed impatiently.

 

He straightened up when he felt Lucius’ departure.

 

He needed to destroy these labs and the experiments the Unspeakables researched. Tom had told him to destroy as much as possible, and hopefully, Harry could destroy every Light wizard inside these labs as well.

 

His temper would aid him, or better yet, his raw determination.

 

It wasn’t difficult to gather his magic for the last and largest blow. All he had to do was look at the empty cage to his left. His parents had sacrificed themselves for Remus Lupin and Harry had placed that burden onto his shoulders after he learned of their involvement. He felt as if he were letting his parents down by not saving Remus in time. And a smaller part of him desperately wanted someone who could be there for him like his parents and Sirius were.

 

But there would be _no_ werewolf guardian.

 

His frame shuddered with raw fervor. Raising his wand, he watched as the Unspeakables raised their wands in turn. They wouldn’t stand a change against an emotionally scarred Magus.

 

Taking a leaf from his blond Magus enemy, Harry used fire. It was the most destructive and the most painful. His wand shuddered when the flames licked past him. The heat was unbearable, even for Harry. It was if the fire had escaped his own body, not from his wand.

 

The orange and blue flames exploded ahead of him, consuming everything in its path. Harry willed the flames to take the whole building down with it.

 

He wouldn’t stay around and watch the demolition.

 

He had seen far too much destruction today.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

The battle had been going smoothly enough. Tom had originally thought of evacuating as soon as he realized it had been a trap. After all, the Order, Aurors, and Unspeakables had all been prepared, whereas the Death Eaters had been taken off guard.

 

It had been hard to watch his Magus run inside the labs with half his army behind him. Harry would have helped him considerably out on the field, but Tom knew his followers needed a leader to guide them through the labs or they would never succeed in getting all the prisoners out safely. And Tom had immensely enjoyed the little power play Harry had shown off before entering the labs. 

 

Minutes had passed and before Tom could take hold of the situation, most of the Light side was entering the labs. Harry and his Death Eaters couldn’t hold themselves up against that many. And it seemed unlikely that they collected all the prisoners already.

 

Tom hissed, trying to lure more of the Light side _away_ from the labs. Half of his Death Eaters were struggling against the manpower of the Ministry. Tom didn’t want to survey the dead. That deed was for later when they had succeeded in this battle.

 

“Get inside the labs,” Tom ordered his Death Eaters.

 

They followed the tide of wizards, catching a few Unspeakables off guard. Tom took special interest in ripping the intestines from his enemies. He enjoyed blood and considered it calming. Even if it was a bit more time consuming for him, it helped his temper bottom out and he took pleasure seeing his enemies gasp for breath as they laid in a puddle of their innards.

 

Wiping a bit of blood from his robes, Tom stepped inside the labs, hesitating.

 

Something didn’t seem right. The air… it smelt like Harry.

 

Crimson eyes widened as he watched a herd of Light wizards race toward the exit. Behind them, a sea of raging blue and orange flames licked their heels. He wouldn’t have enough time to move, to escape the flamed hell, but his mind was quick enough to act.

 

Using the Dark Mark branded on his Death Eaters, Voldemort apparated away, yanking the Death Eaters with him. He only disapparated a few miles away so he could watch the outcome of the fire. Unease and anxiety lingered at the back of his mind as he observed the labs exploding. There would be hundreds of casualties inside those labs. But how many were his followers?

 

Standing silently on a small grassy hill, Tom couldn’t face the thought of Harry inside the building.  Selfishly, he’d rather have multiple of his followers die inside that building then have Harry perish.

 

He turned his back on the labs just as black smoke mushroomed in the air. The remaining Death Eaters were watching the explosion, their eyes calculating.

 

He had nothing to say to them. They could have fought better. They could have _killed more_. Instead of expressing his displeasure, he disapparated with his followers once again. This time, he traveled to the lair, hoping to see a stubborn and immature green-eyed boy.

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry hadn’t been at the lair where the prisoners were being looked after and the Death Eaters were recuperating. Tom had taken one look at his safe and attended army before leaving once again, instructing Lucius to stand guard.

  
His magic was licking his skin in tiny shocks. Even Tom could admit that he was unsettled and angry, _furious,_ at the boy. How dare that little Magus disappear without a single word of his location?

 

He couldn’t possibly bring his mind to the possibility that Harry went down with the Unspeakable labs. It was unthinkable and something the boy _would_ do. Although the child claimed he wasn’t suicidal anymore, Tom knew that self-inflicting harm wasn’t something that could diminish so easily. And after Lucius had indulged Tom with the information that there was no Remus Lupin, Tom had left in a hurry.

 

His strides were long and uneven as he raced to the basement of the Malfoy manor.  He and Harry had not gotten along the past week. Today had been the fall out. Even if the boy had been a smart-mouthed little bastard today, Tom could admit to his wrongdoings of excluding Harry in his works.

 

The boy’s words rang out in his head after Tom had told Harry he was his partner.

 

_“In which way, Tom? In bed or in this war? It’s clearly not the latter.”_

Tom breathed deeply as he felt the magic ahead of him.

 

Harry was safe.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry was so focused, so engaged with his mock duel that he didn’t hear the door open. Across from him, he had conjured up a featureless figure that fought back with just as much strength as Harry had himself.

  
When he had been recovering from his concussion, he had read a textbook in which gave him ideas of how to train. One of the systems he used was the cloning charm. A warrior or duelist could clone himself for the length of a duel. The magical aspiration would harbor the same amount as power as the duelist and just as much common knowledge in magic as the user.

 

It was useful when Harry wanted to lose some steam. Otherwise, he didn’t use the Cloning Charm all that often. His clone had the same amount of magic as he did and the same amount of knowledge, how could he improve if he was fighting someone on the same level as him?

 

No, Harry usually spent his training this past week thinking of ways to manipulate his power. He had spread his magic, and his creativity, and he also learned to love his power.

 

“You’ve improved,” a voice stated rather calmly from the door. Through his sweaty hair, he looked over at Tom. The man was expressionless as he surveyed Harry dueling.

 

Harry grunted lowly, his body full of sweat as he vanished his clone on the other end of the room. The magic vanished in a wisp, looking as if nothing had been there save for the scorch marks from Harry’s magic. “I’ve been training this past week,” he gave Tom a cool look. “While you were gone.”

 

The Dark Lord’s jaw clenched, otherwise, he was a master at his expressions. “I hope you aren’t pushing yourself too hard,” Tom continued, quietly stepping inside the arena-like room. “Even Magi get magical exhaustion.”

 

“I _know_ that,” Harry snapped, irritated. “Is there a reason you came here? I’m sure you have other business to attend to. You only seem to approach me when its time for battle,” Harry drawled viciously, turning his temper on Tom.

 

The man was across Harry within seconds, grasping Harry’s shoulders. “I came here because I was _concerned_ about you _._ I also want to apologize for my actions this past week; I should not have excluded you from my plans and my meetings with the press. I _admit_ my wrongdoing. Will you admit yours?” 

 

Harry felt as if the world were spinning too quickly. He even felt nauseated and weak.

 

Standing before Tom, he saw the red-eyed man as a sort of anchor. And why not? Tom had been there through so much, he was _always_ there to lend a hand to Harry in need, to offer support. And Harry needed that now.

 

He leaned forward, crashing his lips on the man’s. His fingers desperately and shakily reached out to Tom, curling around the man’s robes that smelt of smoke and blood. He wanted to be consumed; he wanted something that he would probably regret later.

 

But he wanted it. He needed it.

 

He needed something that would take his mind off this war, if only for a bit.

 

“Please,” Harry whispered against Tom’s lips. “Can you please just stay with me for a bit?”  He arched his neck backward so he could meet those eyes head on. Tom wasn’t afraid to hide his lust, his concern, and Harry trembled in the wake of the older man’s emotions.

 

“You don’t even have to ask, My Gem.” Tom leaned forward, caressing his lips against Harry’s jaw line. “I will always be here for you, always.”

 

And through Harry’s lust-filled haze, he allowed Tom to lead him to the bedroom. The walk from the training room to the bedroom was a blur and how Harry got underneath Tom was even a larger blank in time.

 

The caresses on his hot skin brought only lust and passion out of Harry. It was just as he wanted, he didn’t even think of the war, only the small things Tom did with his tongue and the way the man’s hold was both possessive and gentle.

 

He tried to give back to Tom; he tried to keep up with the Dark Lord. Harry didn’t know if he succeeded or failed miserably, all he cared about was the exceptional feeling he got as his fingers ran across Tom’s bare skin. The man allowed his clumsy fingers to trace across his abdomen and chest, and eventually, the naked thighs.

 

Through the pain and pleasure, Harry clutched at Tom, keeping his eyes on crimson. 

 

This is what he wanted.

 

He was anchored to this world only through Tom.

 

And at the moment, he had no qualms about it.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

 

The boy was completely out of it.

 

Tom stared down at the sleeping form of his Gem, wondering what the hell had just happened. It was of no argument that the child needed comfort and lured it out from Tom the only way he knew how. Sex.

 

A week earlier, Harry had warned Tom not to push him in their physical relationship. And who broke that warning? The very same one who issued it. Somewhere, deep inside Tom, knew Harry still might have not been ready for this next step in their relationship. The boy had been in a mental breakdown. He had been vulnerable and weak. And Tom had felt no guilt taking advantage of that. He could be labeled as a bastard for taking advantage, yes, but he wanted this more than he could possibly admit to himself.

 

And it had been…

 

There really was no word to describe what had happened.

 

Tom blinked at Harry’s face before turning on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His body shook of small tremors and he was thankful Harry was unconscious.  His legs, his chest, his stomach, even his hands were shaking. His eyes were wide and dilated with the after affects of the burning lust and passion. Not even the battle today had worn him out this much. This…

 

Tom swallowed thickly, rising from his position on the bed and quietly walking to the bathroom. His fingers splayed the soft fabric of cotton before he wrapped his lower half in the towel.

 

As he approached the sink, his hands laid upon the cool countertop as he leaned forward toward the mirror. The man looking back at him looked far from a Dark Lord. Instead, he appeared lost, confused, and exhausted. It wasn’t a surprise, not after his encounter with Harry. No one had _ever_ made him feel like that in bed. Tom may have been on top, the more experienced, but he certainly felt as if Harry was the one taking advantage tonight.

 

The boy’s fingers were clumsy, bringing a sense of innocence to their rather heated exchange. But with each touch, Tom felt Harry’s magic shock the length of his body. It had been erotic, a painful passion that Tom could barely handle. He had released his climax inside Harry much quicker and more violent than he intended to.  It was as if he were a virgin a second time. Nothing could have prepared him for the interaction.

 

It was if he had been making love to power and magic itself.

 

“Troubles?”

 

Tom’s crimson eyes slit as he eyed the portrait which appeared on the bathroom wall. “Must you _snoop_ all the time?” Salazar Slytherin’s portrait was magically able to move itself around, no matter where it was. It was both useful and an utter annoyance on Tom’s part. “The bathroom, in my opinion, is a rather _private_ place for a pompous portrait like yourself.”

 

Salazar’s green eyes mocked Tom from where he sat. With an exaggerated look at the bedroom where Harry was sleeping, the old Founder looked back at Tom. “I came to you earlier tonight to ask you about the battle, but I had come at a bad time- it appeared. Now is as good as any. You aren’t… preoccupied.” A sly smile spread across Salazar’s face.

 

Ignoring the jab, Tom straightened from the mirror, keeping his eyes on Salazar through the reflection. Seeing the green eyes of Salazar reminded Tom vividly of Harry’s wonder-like stare as he thrust into him.

 

“It went smoothly. There were casualties, but not nearly as much as the Light.” His lips quirked as he remembered. “Harry brought a large advantage to our side. A very _devastating_ blow to the Light. Our army is recovering at the lair. The reporters should be getting their story ready for tomorrow’s paper.” He paused. “We may need to strike the Ministry a bit earlier than expected. Once the story comes out to the public I don’t want the Ministry to come up with an ultimatum.”

 

Salazar gave a pleased hum, his eyes tracing over the sweaty and scratched form of Tom. “It appears as if you received your own win.”

 

Tom narrowed his eyes. He turned away from the mirror and caught Salazar’s eye. “That is none of your concern,” he hissed.

 

The man’s eyebrows heightened. “Despite the sickeningly sweet glow around you, you seem tentative. What could be uncertain about bonding with a Magus?”

 

Tom hissed again, turning away from Salazar. Clenching his jaw, he wondered when he grew an emotional attachment to his ancestor. “It’s complicated,” he started softly, studying his fingers just briefly before turning back to Salazar. “I feel different with Harry. He’s not like the others I’ve slept with. I feel for him like he’s my son.” Salazar’s eyebrows hitched up further, near his hairline. Before he could speak, Tom continued. “However, I hold sexual feelings for him.” Tom smirked, his eyes coming alive. “Tonight didn’t quell those feelings. In fact, they only heightened them.”

 

For a moment, Salazar studied Tom silently before his mouth twitched. “My boy, it appears as if you have finally discovered love.”

 

Tom flinched backwards, a disgusted grimace on his mouth. “Love?” He drawled. “I do not _love_ , I’m incapable of love. I was conceived in an act of coercion, rather than [love](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Love). My mother used a love potion to lure my Muggle father.” He slowed down his breathing, unable to think more on his parents.

 

“That may be true, Tom, but there is always an exception. And it wouldn’t be a surprise if a Magus was the one to prove you wrong.” Salazar cocked his head to the side, eyeing Tom. “You care for the boy, almost as strong as the bond between father and son. Yet you harbor lust and primitive urges for him. This one time, Tom, you may accept love. Harry will not be a weakness. He’s a Magus.”

 

Tom remained silent.

 

“Think on it, boy. Congratulations on the win, I’m sure you will snag the final battle.” With that, the portrait disappeared, leaving a silent a brooding Tom.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

He groaned.

 

He felt _sore_.

 

Harry turned his face and buried it in the pillow next to him. He was well aware of the warm body next to him, and quite frankly, he was surprised that Tom had stayed long enough to be here when Harry got up. He half expected the man to disappear right after they… had sex.

 

Heat flushed across his cheeks and neck as he remembered what happened last night. It was still a haze, but he remembered the way Tom held him securely and possessively. He remembered Tom searching his body for the most sensitive spots and he remembered the seductive Parseltongue words as they were hissed in his ear. And he also remembered the pleasure that had accompanied the pain of being entered the first time.

 

A chuckle danced near his ear as the body next to him inched closer, almost suffocating him. “I know you’re awake. You’ve slept long enough.”

 

Harry cracked his eyes open, eyeing Tom. The man didn’t look closed off like Harry would expect him to be. Instead, Tom looked like his usual self, if not more smug. And _that_ was saying something.

 

“Do you regret it?” Tom asked casually. His crimson eyes were like that of freshly spilt blood as they traced over Harry’s face.

 

The younger wizard sat up, the covers pooling around his naked waist. Lifting his chin, he met the eyes head on. “I regret it as much as you do, Tom,” he murmured truthfully. The fact of the matter was he didn’t regret last night at all. Tom was his anchor. And Harry had wanted to be as close to the man as possible. 

 

Looking at the Dark Lord now, Harry realized he still wanted to be close.

 

“Good,” Voldemort purred. “I look forward to our next _encounter._ ” Harry’s eyes widened as Voldemort turned away, grabbing something from the bedside table. “I want you to eat. You’ve been using a lot of energy in the battles and in training.”

 

“Breakfast in bed,” Harry smiled brightly at Tom, oddly not feeling shy and self-conscious around the man after their interactions last night. “You’re too sweet.” 

 

Crimson eyes narrowed. “Don’t get use to it, Potter.”

 

Glancing down at the tray, he bypassed the large glass of milk and the plateful of sausage and pancakes, favoring the thick stack of papers. Green eyes widened and he looked up at Tom in surprise. “Is this… is this it?” Tom’s eyebrows heightened and a smirk played his lips. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Harry’s left hand quickly reached for the stack of parchments, unfolding the first.

 

It was the _Prophet_ and on the first page, Harry’s eyes traced over the moving picture of himself. His body started to shake from his overwhelming emotions as he watched the thin prisoner boy launch himself in his arms. The emotion spreading across the boy’s face was that of pure gratitude, the haunting shadows disappearing for just those few seconds in Harry’s arms.

 

He didn’t even _need_ to read the article as he launched himself at Tom. The glass of milk spilt, staining the bed and their bodies. “You did it,” Harry whispered breathlessly, his lips touching Tom’s jaw a bit hesitantly, yet his exuberance gave him enough confidence.

 

Tom made a noise in his chest, rivaling that of a purr. His fingers, long and cold, grasped Harry’s chin. “ _We_ did it, My Gem.” Lacing Harry’s earlier hesitation, Tom confidently kissed the younger wizard.

 

Between them, the spilt milk heated.

 

They hardly noticed.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

The morning at Hogwarts brought together the tired and exhausted students. Only two things should have been on their minds, more sleep and more food. A few selected students should even be _dreading_ Potions with Professor Snape this morning, yet there wasn’t one complaint.

 

The Great Hall was silent of dishes clashing and chatty students. Instead, a certain gloom and dimness hovered around the school. Every student held a wizarding paper in their hands, ranging from the _Prophet_ to the less popular subscription of _Excelsior_.  Even if none of the students had subscribed to wizarding news, they woke up with more than a dozen of papers at their feet this morning, each paper containing the same story.

 

It told them of their familiar professor’s story and revelation about the Ministry. The horrors they read about the Ministry’s and Unspeakable’s experiments were all confirmed with the photographs inside the pages. The pages of the _Prophet_ and _Excelsior_ spoke of Tom Riddle as a rising Dark Lord whose ideals promised equality between Dark and Light and the end of a corrupted government. It also told them of the joint leader to Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort.

 

“Harry Potter?”

 

Whispers broke through the school. Groups were crowded in crooks of the corridors while others stood dumfounded in the middle of the corridors, their fingers white with the tension from clutching the prophets.

 

There were mixed opinions about the articles. The minority didn’t believe the article’s content, choosing to throw away the papers and continue on to breakfast. But the majority was in horrified disbelief. A few students couldn’t handle the graphic photos of the prisoners and broke down in tears, their chests swimming with anxiety and pity.

 

The more, levelheaded students, strut around school, their chests out. It wasn’t a surprise to note most of them were Slytherins, all led by none other than Draco Malfoy. Oddly enough, they stayed silent in their taunts, realizing that their taunting and mocking would not sit well at this time. Their fathers and mothers had spent _years_ under a gathering army in order to become strong enough to take down the corrupted government. They knew their Lord had committed both time and power in order to get them where they were now. A few taunts could shatter their reputation; it could ruin the Dark Lord’s plans at a _balanced_ and unified wizarding world. Instead, the Slytherins grouped together, whispering in excitement for their changed government.

 

Another group, somewhere between the two extremes, was hidden in the darker corners of Hogwarts. Their eyes traced over the photograph of Harry Potter embracing a prisoner. “Do you believe it?” The red-head asked softly, his eyes tracing his best mate he hadn’t seen in months. “A _Dark Lord,_ ‘Mione. Can he really want what’s best for _all_ of us?” His voice held no abhorrence, instead, he sounded lost, tentative.

 

Brown eyes glanced up at the red-head, her own expression twisted in uncertainty. “I don’t think the Dark Lord could do any more harm than the Ministry already has, Ron. Harry wouldn’t support someone if it wasn’t for the best.” The young woman paused, her breath wavering. “But they haven’t won yet. They have another battle ahead of them in order to gain complete control of the Ministry. Gaining support of the people won’t do anything until they have the Ministry in their hands.”

  
Another red-head, a younger girl, gave a shuddering sigh, her worried eyes on the several copies of the _Prophet_ at their feet.

 

“Don’t worry, Ginny, Harry can handle himself.”

 

They wrapped their arms around each other, hidden away from the rest of the students.

 

One thing wasn’t arguable amongst the students.

 

Headmaster Dumbledore was conveniently absent from the school.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry frowned as he paced the length of the cave-like room. His strides were slow, measured, as he looked over the prisoners being tended to. Most of them were resting, their bodies needing nutrients and sleep. But he became unsettled when he saw more than a few white sheets draped over bodies.

 

“Mr. Potter,” a voice called softly from the entrance to the room.

 

Turning, he eyed the Head Healer, Cormac, the very same man who had tended both his hand and concussion. Throwing one last look at the patients, Harry headed out of the sick room. The hide-out for the Dark side was located in a cave, settled in the mountains. It had two chambers to it, the largest reserved for the ill and wounded. It was cut off into two sections, one for magical creatures and one for the humans. It helped separate the two, just in case one creature was too far gone in his animal side.

 

The other chamber, near the main entrance, was mainly for the Death Eaters to rest, eat, and mingle.

 

Once he left the sick room, he eyed the Dark army. They were reading over the newspapers, their glee painfully obvious even to Harry. Lord Voldemort was making his way over, his attention zeroing in on Harry’s lost expression.

 

Tom had been the one to suggest for Harry to search more in depth for Remus Lupin at the lair.

 

“You seem to be looking for someone,” Cormac, an old man, yet muscular in his own right, dipped his head low to level with Harry’s. “Perhaps I can help you?”

 

Harry’s lips thinned and his eyes dimmed. “Remus Lupin,” his voice croaked. “He’s a Lycan, a werewolf.” He paused, continuing just as Voldemort came to a stop next to him. “Have you seen him? Heard anything?”

 

He could have asked the other werewolves there. However, Harry had noticed their sick eyes and their fevered pallor. Even if Harry had asked, he wouldn’t know if he received the right answer to their questions. They seemed lost, even in their own mind. 

 

Cormac didn’t look too reassuring and Harry’s stomach dropped as a result. “I haven’t seen hide of him.” The man shook his head as a negative. “There weren’t many Lycans stable enough to speak their names.” The man’s eyes turned to the Dark Lord. “Most of the patients, I’m afraid, will suffer from permanent mental issues. Insanity and withdraws to their own mind. It’s common for a victim to relapse like that.”

 

“It’s to be expected,” Tom reassured the fretting Healer. “Years in the labs could easily scar one’s mind.”

 

Harry kept his eyes on Cormac, noting the tight jaw and dark eyes. It must be difficult, for a Healer to see this much suffering. “There’s more, isn’t there?” Harry whispered softly, bringing the attention of both men on him. Usually, Cormac was a hard man with no expression. When he had fixed Harry’s gruesome hand, he had shown no pity, not emotion. But now, he looked tormented.

 

Cormac sighed, his weary face crumbling. He ran a hand through his white hair in weariness. “There will be more casualties than survivors. Despite my wide-raged knowledge with the body, I am unable to detect the poisons and the spells the Unspeakables have used on their victims. Some patients are even in pain as we speak. I am unable to do anything about it.” The man paused, his face grave. “We may have to coup de grâce, euthanasia, or as others like to call it, physician-assisted suicide.”

 

Harry swallowed his vomit, looking away from the two grown men and at the wall of the cave. The overwhelming emotion of despair crawled back inside him, rendering him weak and ashamed. Why did he always feel as if he needed to save everyone? Why was it always his fault that people died?

 

“I will give you permission to do so, use your best judgment.” Voldemort responded, his voice cold, perhaps not revealing his real emotions of sorrow.

 

“ _No,_ ” Harry growled lowly.

 

He turned to look at the two wizards who had turned their attention back on him. Voldemort’s lips thinned disapprovingly at his outward disobedience. “Do you wish them to suffer, child?” Tom whispered just as lowly, his crimson eyes narrowing. “The debate of mercy-killing has long been debated. What is ethical? Allowing your patient to suffer in extreme pain? Or killing them in order to stop their pain?”

 

“I will make sure it is quick and painless,” Cormac concluded, adding his own reassurance.

 

“No,” Harry shook his head, unable to bow to Tom’s opinion. “You can get in touch with their families. Their families have the _right_ to know their loved one was alive all this time. And the patient has a _right_ to see their family before they die. If the victim is conscious enough of the decision, let them chose their fate. If not, let the family decide what’s best.”

 

Cormac turned to Voldemort. “My Lord?” he asked in question.

 

Harry stared Voldemort down, not backing from his word. The taller wizard sighed softly, turning a hard expression on Cormac. “You heard the child, Cormac.” 

 

“Yes, My Lord,” the Head Healer bowed at the waist before turning and entering the sick chamber once again.

 

“Thank you,” Harry muttered, his body tense, waiting for the man’s disproval at Harry’s outspoken rebuttal. Instead, Voldemort smiled thinly, reaching out to brush his index finger down Harry’s cheek.

 

“It must be painful to discover your werewolf is not here. But I hope you aren’t just fighting this war for your deceased parents and their friends. I hope you are fighting for your own reasons, because, only then, will you succeed.”

 

Harry curled his fingers around Voldemort’s hand, keeping the man’s hand in position on his cheek. “Originally, I admit, I was fighting for my parents’ and Sirius’ memory. But after seeing the bleak and barren devastation of the prisoners and the prejudice against the Dark wizards, my reasons have changed. I want to help as much as I can.”

 

Tom smiled, truly. “It’s hard to imagine you as that disobedient and lazy student I taught for five years. You’ve grown up considerably, Harry and you’ve matured significantly. You’re parents would be proud.”

 

Harry grinned. “I’d like to think so, Tom.”

 

Surprisingly, Tom leaned forward, in front of his army, and brushed his lips across Harry’s temple. Muffled laughs and jeers were heard from the army at their display of affection. Harry was sure his face was brilliant red and he kept his face near Tom’s neck to recover his regular color.  _“Let them see you belong to me,”_ Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue in Harry’s ear.

 

He shuddered as Tom pulled away, turning toward his army. “Prepare yourselves,” Tom raised his voice, catching the attention of every Death Eater. “We may have had our victory yesterday, but today is a new day. We must strike our last blow, soon, while the Ministry is vulnerable. Tomorrow at dawn will be our last attack. You have the remainder of tonight to gather your strength.”

 

The Dark Lord paused, but Harry and the rest knew there was more. Green eyes searched Tom’s face, noting how expressionless the man appeared. The Dark Lord had multiple masks. He was a decent leader who tolerated no disobedience. He was harsh and he was unmovable. No one would think of defying the Dark Lord because of the man’s power and viciousness.

 

“Last battle, although successful, was _wretched_. Many of you slacked and dragged your feet during the battle. Need I remind you what we’re fighting for?” Tom raised his eyebrows mockingly, gesturing heatedly to the sick chamber. “Just look inside that room and refresh your memory. The Ministry needs to crumble and rise again. Each of you will be apart of that new empire _if_ you give it your all. There is no half-arse, and I will not accept laziness. If I see you slacking off in battle tomorrow, I will kill you myself. We have waited years for this moment not to waste it on your indolence.”

 

The Death Eater’s paled, swallowing and looking ill. Others raised their chin, looking upon Voldemort with reverence and admiration.

 

Harry remained silent, even if he wanted to argue with the man’s promised words.

 

“If you slack, you are not a benefit in my army. You bring both me and our cause down, you are a liability. I will not allow it.” Voldemort all but eyed each Death Eater in the chamber. “So prepare yourselves.” He barked his order before turning to Harry and catching him around the waist.

 

Harry allowed himself to be pulled away from the army, feeling as if Voldemort’s speech had encouraged them to fight harder. They were high off their win; their overconfidence might cause them tomorrow. Trust Tom to shatter their high and bring them back down to earth.

 

“I hope tomorrow is our last battle for this war,” Tom began as soon as they were under the cover of shadows and away from the Death Eaters’ hearing rage. The Dark Lord took Harry’s right hand, his fingers gently massaging the gloved hand. “Is it any better?”

 

“I can’t feel your fingers,” Harry drawled lightly, his eyes dancing across Tom’s skillful fingers. It was true. He no longer had any twinges of pain or numbness. It was just… paralyzed. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t even begun to try to heal it. I haven’t had much time. Perhaps… when the war is over I’ll have more time.”

 

Tom’s eyes averted from his hand to his face. There were unspoken words between them, almost as if they realized this was their last conversation before the unknown outcome of the war tomorrow morning.

 

“We got lucky yesterday,” Harry started out. “Not only did the reporters successfully hand out hundreds of articles to the people about the corrupted Ministry, but _He_ wasn’t there.” Tom dropped his hand, an expression of antagonism washing over him. Before the man could speak scathing words, Harry reached forward, placing his fingers over the man’s lips. “Please, I don’t want to fight with you. Not tonight.”

 

“You’re just as good as him, why are you so afraid?”

 

“He’s got _decades_ on me, that’s why. We’re both immortal,” Harry whispered.

 

“What does being immortal have to do with anything, Harry?”

 

Harry looked down, fighting internally for the right words. “I’m afraid of being immortal, Tom. He’s the only one that can kill me… I… don’t know,” he trailed off, his thoughts mingled. A part of him realized that if he killed the blond Magus, he would lose his only chance of dying. No one would ever be powerful enough to kill Harry. Tomorrow was his chance of passing away peacefully, a chance at avoiding the bleak and lonely eternity.

 

An angry hiss sounded. The shadows around Harry darkened considerably and Tom’s crimson eyes seemed to brighten. Harry fought to keep his stance when all he wanted to do was step back at the man’s sinister expression. “Are you telling me that you’re suicidal tendencies have not left you? You’re saying you’d rather let the Magus kill you than to see all the hard work you put toward this war play out? Are you that afraid of being immortal?”

 

“I never said I was _suicidal_ ,” Harry growled lightly. “I never said I wanted him to kill me.”

 

“No, but you were clearly implying it.” Tom’s lips were curved upward in disgust as he looked down his nose at Harry. “Pray tell me, how your logic is fair to _me_.” Green eyes narrowed in confusion. “Do you really think I will allow you to kill yourself so easily? I _want_ you by my side after the war, child.”

 

Harry remained silent. The idea of staying with Tom was appealing. But could he truly see himself getting more attached to the man while Tom grew older, and eventually died?

 

 _“I’m immortal as well, my Gem. We have longer than eternity to be together and finish this conversation. Tomorrow, you will kill the Magus. The day after, we will speak of when to end our lives._ ” Tom hissed in parseltongue, startling Harry from his musings. _“But I can guarantee you; I’m not ready to leave this world yet and I’m not ready for you to leave this world.”_

Harry had _known_ there was something different about Tom. How the man never aged, how he seemed to be frozen in his late twenties and early thirties. It made sense now, but… how?

 

“How?” He voiced his thoughts, wanting to know how Tom was immortal. However, he couldn’t stop the smile from stretching his lips. It was pure delight to hear those words being hissed from Tom.

  
Somehow, living forever didn’t seem as lonely as before.

 

“That is for me to tell you at a later date, Harry.” Tom reached forward, his fingertips just barely brushing across the skin on Harry’s neck. “But I am eager to exist forever with you. Perhaps one decade we can become friendly enemies.  The very idea of battling against you arouses me.” The man leaned closer, his breath ghosting across Harry’s stunned face. “And, perhaps, another decade we can spend in bed. If it’s anything like last night, I am eager to try new things.”

 

Cold lips claimed Harry’s neck in a kiss.

 

Shuddering in pleasure at the reassurance Tom gave him; Harry wrapped his arms around the man’s thin shoulders, causing the man to bow foward. With a newfound confidence, Harry kissed the man fiercely, enjoying the feeling as Tom’s tongue entered his mouth.

 

An eternity of _this_ would _never_ get old.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Chapter Twenty One**

 

Harry’s stomach churned as he watched the Dark army prepare. It was almost dawn. And that meant it was almost time for the final battle.

 

His breathing was slow and he tried to calm his racing pulse. Green eyes closed and he focused on grounding himself, preparing both himself and his magic. His magic was cloaking him in soothing waves, almost if it could sense Harry’s anxiety.

 

He had a reason to survive this battle. Before, he hadn’t really cared what his outcome would be. It was true he had the Weasleys and Hermione, but they had copped months without him so far. What was another lifetime? But _now_ , now he had Tom to draw his inspiration from. The Dark Lord had told Harry he was immortal as well. And even though Harry didn’t know _how_ Tom was immortal, it stilled helped lift the bleak loneliness from Harry.

 

“Potter,” a voice greeted coolly.

 

Without opening his eyes, Harry knew who stood near him. His lips stretched into a rather humorous grin. “Professor Snape,” he greeted in turn.

 

He tried to block out the other voices, the other cries.

 

Healer Cormac had contacted a few of the prisoner’s families. The families had arrived at the lair early, or rather, late last night. He could almost taste the devastation come from the healing chamber. Their cries and horrifying moans made Harry a bit more anxious to end this war. He knew most of the families were gracious for Voldemort and his army to deliver their family member back to them, yet they were still cautious, not knowing how to act around the Dark army.

 

It was to be expected. But their presence was needed here. They had an important decision to make.

 

Mercy kill their loved one, or let the loved one suffer.

 

Harry didn’t know what he would chose if he was faced with that decision. However, he was pleased that Voldemort agreed with Harry to allow the family members the decision. It felt only right to have their family chose and not the Healer.

 

“Good luck today, Mr. Potter.”

 

Green eyes blinked open. He surveyed the stoic and expressionless man with his own indifferent mask. “Thank you, Professor, the same to you.” He paused, looking the man in the eye. His professor looked a bit worn but the man covered it exceptionally well. “You still love the Headmaster, don’t you? But you know he supports a cause you cannot follow.”

 

Snape’s expression twisted into a grimace, his mouth ready to strike Harry with his sharp tongue.

 

“ _I_ still love him,” Harry interrupted the man before he could continue. “And I think, deep down, he feels as if he _is_ supporting the right cause. He wants what’s best for the wizarding world, or more specifically, the Light wizards.”

 

Harry expected Snape to rear his head again, but surprisingly enough the man gave a tense nod. “Headmaster Dumbledore has always had the Light wizards’ in best interest.” His onyx eyes danced across Harry’s face. “However, he has always expressed his regret on your father and mother’s death. And more recently, he truly has been troubled at your absence.” Harry swallowed thickly, looking away from Snape. “Don’t let that fool you, Potter, Dumbledore is a dangerous man. He cannot be kept alive. You mustn’t let that get in your way.”

 

“I’m not going to kill him,” Harry replied softly, his eyes focused on the tall form of the Dark Lord. “That is the Dark Lord’s place.”

 

The two watched as the Dark Lord harassed one of the Death Eaters, looking highly irritated and disgusted as he took a flask from the Death Eater and tossed it. Harry’s lips twitched. Alcohol was some men’s vices. Apparently the Dark Lord didn’t agree.

 

Crimson eyes then turned to him. “I will never understand, nor will I _want_ to, how you and the Dark Lord came to be,” Snape sniffed, his lip curling.

 

Harry watched Snape stalk off in amusement, especially fond of watching the man’s robes blowing out behind him. If anybody deserved to survive this war, it would be Snape. Even if the man was a right bastard at times, the man had gone through a lot in his lifetime.

 

Before he could continue to dwell on Snape, a hand swept through his hair. “Harry,” the woman in front of him crooned. “I expect you to play it safe this battle.”

 

 _Play safe_.

 

Harry shared a look with the masked Lucius Malfoy. The man’s cool grey eyes assessed Harry calmly, yet there was an amused glimmer in their depths. “I’ll play as safe as I can, Mrs. Malfoy—,” he cleared his throat as her fingers yanked his hair rather painfully. “I meant _Narcissa_.”

 

The woman really was breathtaking. Her cool beauty made it appear as if she wouldn’t possess an affectionate bone in her body. Who knew Draco Malfoy’s mother would find a soft spot for Harry Potter? Her son’s school rival?

 

“I expect you to come visit the manor after the war. Draco and you will get along better, I’m sure of it.” Her voice didn’t leave any room for argument and Harry wouldn’t dare try to go against her word.

 

“I’ll try my best,” he vowed.

 

“Try his best, he says,” she whispered lowly to Lucius before turning back to Harry. Her fingers, so soothing against his scalp, attempted to flatten his hair down. Harry couldn’t look at Lucius, too embarrassed that he was actually enjoying the caress she was giving him.

 

“Coddling before a battle never sits well, Narcissa.” Luckily, Tom saved him, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders.

 

“My Lord,” Narcissa pursed her lips before brushing Harry’s bangs back. “The boy needs a bit of coddling every now and then. Merlin knows he needs a bit of feminine attention. All these men around will give him frown lines.”

 

Voldemort gave a dark chuckle, his fingers clawing into Harry’s shoulders possessively. “He gets enough coddling from me.”

 

Harry’s ears and neck flushed deeply and he cleared his throat, trying to erase the awkwardness of this conversation. “Are we departing soon?” Harry craned his neck in order to look up at Tom. The man’s crimson eyes were surveying his army, no doubt checking to see if there were any stranglers who had any more flasks in hand.

 

“Soon.”

 

“We’ll attack beneath the Ministry?” It was either attacking beneath the Ministry or above. And because the Muggle world was above the Ministry, Tom had decided to take the Ministry from the bottom up. There, of course, would be some concerns. For one thing, they would be invading on their enemy’s territory, an unknown for most of them. And secondly, it was hard to tell how many wizards were inside the Ministry during the attack.

 

One thing was for certain. There weren’t many Unspeakables left from Harry’s attack the other day. He had blown up a good majority of the Light side, his guilt not as strong today as it was after it happened.

 

“I think that is our only option, unless we seal off the Muggle world.” Voldemort responded tightly, a light curl to his lip. “And after the war, we’ll be spending countless of hours tracking down Muggles who have witnessed the attack just to _oblivate_ them.”

 

“Underground sounds good,” Harry agreed quickly, shuddering at the mere thought of having all that work to do.

 

He just hoped there _was_ a life for him after the war.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

The black rock rained down on them as they drilled upward. Harry, his left arm sore from holding his wand so long, winced when a large piece of rubble hit him in his head. A few snickers were heard behind him from the Death Eaters. Harry paused, turning to flash the Death Eaters a lethal look.

 

“If you keep on your chuckling, I’ll use all of _you_ as a shield.” Harry paused, making it appear as if he were thinking on what to say next, instead, he was secretly giving his arm a rest. “Or better yet, I’ll use your heads as a drill.”

 

They shut up rather quickly, their eyes still bright behind their masks.

 

The Dark army was standing on the platform of the Muggle Underground, eager to swarm inside the Ministry once Harry finished making his way through the barrier between the Muggle world and the wizarding world. They successfully blocked the Underground from any trains passing through. No Muggles would witness their break-in.

 

A few feet away, Lord Voldemort was making his own way up into the Ministry. His expression, although cloaked with a hood, didn’t reveal his exhaustion. Harry bet the man’s arm was about to break off, but the man showed no ounce of vulnerability.

 

And Tom also had a better shield than Harry had. No rocks were falling on the man’s head. No Death Eaters were snickering. In fact, the rocks, if they fell, fell on top of the Death Eaters. They scrambled out of the way, clumsily raising their shields.

 

“Troubles, Mr. Potter?” Voldemort’s voice was cool and taunting, echoing across the Underground.

 

Harry sniffed, continuing on with the drilling. His magic churned, bored at the mindless task. Harry sympathized with it, understanding its boredom. Hell, _he_ was bored out of his mind. They had been drilling for a good ten minutes and he wanted action.

 

“Of course I’m not having _troubles_ , My Lord,” Harry bit back gruffly, hearing the snorts of some of the Death Eaters. “I am close, however, in using one of your mindless followers for a drill.” Harry smirked as the chuckles died down once again. He adjusted his shield and the rubble bounced off near his face and rained down on his half of the army. They scrambled, voicing their disagreement.

 

Voldemort and Harry were the only ones who were meant to drill upward. Their magic was more discreet and it wouldn’t alert the Ministry until they actually broke through the wards.  Because of this, Voldemort wanted Harry to drill his own entrance; it would create more of a surprise on the Ministry if there were two entrances.

 

“I’m close to the wards,” Voldemort replied smoothly, ignoring Harry’s lackluster threat. “I hope you are as well?”

 

It was another taunt and Harry grumbled under his breath. “I’m sure closer than you are.”

 

“Is that a challenge I sense in your tone, my Gem?” Voldemort had stopped drilling, his eyes expectant as he looked over at Harry. Harry’s cheeks flushed at the endearing title in front of the whole lot of Death Eaters. That _man…_

 

“Damn right,” Harry growled, forcing his magic to quicken its pace. He’d get to the wards and break them before Voldemort could.

 

It was a few more minutes before he felt the buckle of magic. The wards made a piercing screech as it clashed with his magic. Not seconds later, Voldemort had reached the wards, sadly, _after_ Harry.

 

Harry didn’t pause in his break in. His Magus quickly dissembled the Ministry wards and he forced his way through the last barrier. Without waiting for Voldemort, he used his magic to pull himself up through the drilled passageway, closing his eyes in exuberance at the speed.

 

He was expecting the first curse. In fact, he already had his shimmering shield surrounding him. The shield constricted around him before glimmering a deep purple as it absorbed the curses and rebounded them back to the casters.

 

Harry’s feet finally balanced on the Ministry’s lower level and he quickly adjusted another shield around his drilled passageway, making a safe passageway for the other Death Eaters. They flew from the Underground, wands raised and acting as pulleys.

 

It was a bit humorous watching Death Eaters pop from the ground, yet Harry remained focused, covering Voldemort’s passageway as well with his shield. The Dark Lord was already through and Harry watched as the man brutally killed the Unspeakable with an internal ripping curse. Blood pooled the ground before the Unspeakable could even collapse. Voldemort’s high cackle filled the lower level of the Ministry. Ironic that it was the Department of Mysteries they were breaking into. This is where it all started.

 

The Ministry alarms were going off, alerting the workers of a break-in. The ones that escaped the Ministry weren’t a threat to the Dark side. They were spineless, and therefore, wouldn’t put up much of a fight when the Dark rose to power. The ones that stayed to fight, to defend the Ministry, were the ones that Voldemort wanted to kill and fight.

 

Harry caught sight of Lucius Malfoy among the group of Death Eaters. The man’s hood was down, proudly displaying his long blond hair that whipped around him as he ran. The man’s movements were flowing and graceful; Harry envied the man, hoping he looked somewhat similar as he dueled.

 

Voldemort, on the other hand, was more stunning than Lucius. His limbs bent in long strokes, appearing fluid. The man looked absolutely spectacular in Harry’s eyes, even with the blood staining his robes.

 

Hastily, Harry crouched down as a spinning object flew over his head, barely missing his face. He watched as it collided with the opposite wall, resulting in a heavy explosion. Harry quickly crossed his wand over his chest, stopping the brunt of the explosion from hitting his men. There were a few Death Eaters who had been too close and Harry closed his eyes at the rather gory image of their torso’s exploding from the blast.

 

“We need to make our way to the top level,” Voldemort ordered sharply, gaining the attention of every Death Eater present.

 

Harry swallowed thickly when he eyed the lone arm across from him. Its socket was ripped cleanly, revealing the torn muscle and bone. “Merlin,” he grumbled, scrambling ungracefully to his feet. He would have thought these kinds of gruesome images wouldn’t affect him as much as they did in the beginning. For Merlin’s _sake,_ he was in a relationship with a Dark Lord.

 

He followed Voldemort and the group up the stairs, making sure to be one of the last wizards in the group. Voldemort was powerful enough to protect himself and therefore, Harry needed to bring another power source from the rear.

 

Rather suspiciously, there weren’t many Unspeakables on the last floor of the Ministry. But then again, if Harry thought on it logically, it would make sense that they grouped quickly on the top floor, preparing themselves and the other Ministry workers for the attack. They hadn’t been prepared for the break-in, and thus, they needed all the time they could get to prepare and call for backup.

 

“Can’t we just take the lift?” A voice whined as they climbed the fourth set of stairs.

 

“Of course, and we’ll fit in more than two hundred Death Eaters in there _how_?”

 

Harry shook his head, his left hand tightening around his wand. The Death Eaters were far too cocky. _“Silence_ ,” Harry growled, his magic licking across the Death Eater’s, causing them to flinch. They quieted, realizing the tenseness of the situation. “So _immature_ ,” Harry continued quietly, yet his voice carried throughout the stairwell. “You’ve already lost men, don’t get too cocky or your torso will be blown to pieces along side them.”

 

Harry stopped his lecture when the hairs on the back of his neck stood.

 

His breathing became hoarse and he pushed passed many of the Death Eaters in his way, hurrying to the top of the stairs. They would have grumbled if it were someone else stepping on their feet, instead, they bore the weight of Harry as he passed. His legs were burning from all the stairs, but he had to reach Voldemort.

 

“Tom,” he called out, afraid his voice was too shaky and too obvious of his uncertainty.

 

The Dark Lord, almost at the top level of the Ministry, paused. His shoulders were stiff at Harry’s use of his Muggle name, but Harry couldn’t care a less at the moment. “Yes?” The man whispered lethally, his fingers curling on the stairwell.

 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit _too_ quiet?” Harry whispered, finally reaching the man. He turned to look at the Death Eaters on the stairs below. All of their eyes were directed at the two conversing figures. “I…I think _he’s_ here, his magic is acting up, I can feel it.”

 

Crimson eyes drank in his expression before Voldemort continued up the stairs. “We’ve already discussed this, Harry. You knew he would be here.”

 

Harry’s teeth were on edge as he followed Voldemort closely. Was he prepared for this? Why was he feeling so unsettled?

 

Their feet hit the first floor of the Ministry, their faces and forms reflected back at them through the shiny wood floors. Harry took a deep breath, looking around the Ministry. “It’s…empty…” His unsettlement grew considerably as the Death Eaters slowly started to pile in behind them. “They wouldn’t just leave their capital.”

 

“Unless they surrendered,” the voice of Lucius Malfoy commented snidely.

 

“Continue to be on _guard_ ,” Voldemort hissed, displeased as the Death Eaters looked around naively. At his barked order, the Death Eaters crouched, despite their worn muscles from climbing, and kept their wands at the ready. Their eyes danced beneath their masks, looking in each crook and corner. The fireplaces stood empty, their green flames dancing in the hearths.

 

Everything was so still.

 

Too still.

 

This happened once before. When the blond Magus was with the Light side, he had somehow covered and cloaked them from sight. Right now, the entire Dark army could be surrounded by Aurors, Unspeakables, Order members, and Ministry members.

 

Voldemort glanced down at Harry, their eyes interlocking and mentally conversing. They were both thinking the same thing. The Dark Lord’s wand twirled as he placed a shield around himself and Harry. _“Avada Kedavra,”_ he hissed, pointing his wand in front of him. The sound of a body fell.

 

“Put up your shields!” Harry yelled, quickly placing up the largest shield he could congregate as the Light wizards materialized around them.

 

The Light side attacked, but luckily, Harry had warned the Death Eaters quickly enough. With Harry’s shield and their added protection, most of the spells rebounded, hitting the unexpected Light wizards and bringing them down. There were a few Light wizards who had resorted to killing curses and they flew past the shields, hitting a few Death Eaters. Despite all this, Harry noticed the remarkable number of Light wizards dwindling. He laughed, the adrenaline rushing through his body in hot waves.

 

The Death Eaters fought with a vengeance, Voldemort’s warning from the day before no doubt repeating in their minds.

 

Harry stood still for a moment as his eyes locked with Dumbledore’s. The man looked old and worn, tearing at Harry’s resolve. He tried to remain indifferent as he stared down the old _fool_ , but he could feel his eyes soften. The man had been, and will always, be like a grandfather to him. No matter the betrayal, Harry knew Dumbledore would always have the wizarding world in his best interest.

 

Only this time, it was for the wrong reasons. And a new age was about to be born.

 

The man’s blue eyes darkened and a grim smile crossed his bearded lips as he gave a solemn nod toward Harry. “Luck be on your side, my boy.” Dumbledore spoke in all honesty. His eyes rose above Harry’s head and the younger wizard tensed before turning.

 

The blow came at him harder than he expected.

 

The magic hit him in the stomach, throwing him off his feet.

 

He flew many feet in the air, maybe yards. His body trembled and he knocked down countless of wizards in his way. Before he could safely land, his body tumbled on the ground roughly, twisting his appendages in ways they had never bent before. His body gave a tight summersault as he finally skidded to a stop. The world spun and he groaned, looking up at the figure who had revealed himself.

 

The blond Magus was standing on one of the fireplaces, laughing as he gazed at Harry’s sprawled out form. His thin and spindly body was curled into a crouch as he watched Harry with a predatory gleam. “Miss me, little Magus?”

 

Harry glowered, his left hand still clutching onto his wand as if it were a lifeline. He had trained for this; he had _known_ this is what it would come down to. Green eyes met taunting grey. The blonde Magus seemed to think of this battle as a joke, as a mock-duel, rather than anything else. The blonde’s lips twisted into a gleeful smile as he assessed Harry.

 

“Who are you?” Harry demanded, carefully standing up in order to avoid falling back down on his arse from dizziness. “Your _name_.”

 

The Magus hunched forward, eyebrows rising. “I’ve gone by many names. However, this century, I go by Ulric.” Ulric sniffed, standing. “It’s due for another change, don’t you think?” A pale hand waved itself carelessly, as if bored. “But that is not what’s important now. What’s important is that I gave you a choice the last time we met. It appears as if you have made your decision.”

 

“I have,” Harry whispered silkily. “Are you going to _kill_ me because I chose to do what is right? You _hypocrite_.”

 

Ulric laughed, twirling his short staff in the general direction of the ongoing battle between the Death Eaters and the Light side. Harry’s eyes averted from the smug Magus and to the direction of his magic. Harry’s breath caught when he realized who Ulric had targeted. “Let’s play, shall we? It’s been _ages_.” Ulric snapped his teeth in a wide grin, sending a wave of magic toward Voldemort. “Hopefully you’ve improved, Harry. I don’t want to be bored.”

 

It was all a game to him.

 

Harry’s teeth clenched as he ran toward Voldemort. The Dark Lord was dueling Dumbledore, both the wizards in the middle and heat of battle. They seemed to be the center of the war, and in turn, the Death Eaters and Light wizards fought around them.

 

As Harry ran, he was distinctively aware of the fact that many of the Order members weren’t present. It warmed his heart a bit that the reporters, the press, had affected many views on the war they were supporting.

 

But now certainly wasn’t the time to think of that.

 

He threw his arms up, just before the spell collided with Voldemort. Harry’s magic, a stunning shade of purple, formed a dome around the Dark Lord. He stopped breathing, hoping his magic had worked enough to stop Ulric’s attack.

 

Not only had the spell absorbed Ulric’s magic, turning the purple shield a sharp amber, but it also reflected back Dumbledore’s magic he had thrown at Voldemort. Harry wasn’t ready to witness Dumbledore falling, but he had the front seat, observing the way Dumbledore’s body was thrown backward, his already frail body twisting awkwardly as he stumbled and eventually slid across the floor, his white beard trailing behind him.

 

Voldemort hardly paused at the happenings around him. His wand took no mercy on Dumbledore and there was no hesitation in the Dark Lord’s actions. An orb escaped Voldemort’s wand and engulfed Dumbledore. The old man’s body slid a bit more across the floor and Albus’ face scrunched up in pure agony, yet he refused to scream.

 

Harry’s lips trembled as he remembered the man’s bright blue eyes always twinkling merrily at Harry from behind his desk. His memory recalled the way the man always snuck lemon drops in his mouth at meals and during a conversation as an innocent smile stretched his face. Somehow, Harry had always thought Dumbledore was indestructible, the all powerful wizard.

 

But seeing him so broken shook Harry more than he was prepared for.

 

“Don’t play with him,” he whispered quietly to himself, knowing Voldemort wouldn’t have heard him.

 

Except, the Dark Lord’s eyes met his. And with a quick wave of his wand, the killing curse was cast next, ending Dumbledore’s life instantly. Harry eyed the corpse of the fallen Headmaster, realizing that Voldemort could have done so much more damage before he killed the Headmaster; in fact, Harry knew the man _wanted_ to bring out his sadistic side on Albus. But he hadn’t. And that was the most respectful thing Harry had seen from Voldemort.

 

This incident and the issue with the mercy killings.

 

Harry flinched, realizing he had become too distracted.

 

His eyes, distraught, looked around the battle for _him_.

 

Harry howled when the Magus’ magic took him by the ankles and pulled him up with such force, his eyes grew cross-eyed trying to figure which way was up and which way was down. He _did_ feel the ceiling coming closer and closer and he prepared his head, hunching his shoulders and using his magic as a shield to protect his body in almost a bubble sort of protection.

 

His magic buckled as it reached the ceiling, but before Harry could rein in his magic, he broke through the barrier between the Ministry and the Muggle world above. His body felt as if it were squeezed in a tube as his magic protected him from the collision. But he didn’t stop at the barrier; he went flying in the air in the Muggle world, finally landing a few feet away from the hole he had escaped from.

 

Because it was so early, there weren’t many people out in the Muggle streets. That was the only thing Harry thanked Merlin for as he panted on the street, his magic shield flickering and then disappearing. His body slumped on the hard pavement, his eyes squeezing shut.

 

“We won,” Harry muttered tiredly, his magic a bit worn. “We won the war.”

 

“Perhaps,” Ulric murmured, his voice coming from every which direction. “But that doesn’t mean I’m through with _you_ and _your_ army.”

 

“Leave them out of it,” Harry growled. “This is between the two of us.”

 

Ulric didn’t respond, instead, he sent another bought of magic at the fallen Harry.

 

The battle may have been over for his army because of Dumbledore’s death, but it just begun for him.

 

His shoulders hunched before he pushed himself off the ground, crouching in a defensive stance. The wand in his hand burned, almost painfully so, as he batted the Magus’ pitch away. With a renew energy, Harry magically parted the pavement Ulric was standing upon. The blonde stumbled inside the crater, waist deep. Before the man could escape, Harry closed off any exits, enjoying the trapped Magus as he struggled to remove himself from the road.

 

With is wand drawn, Harry focused on closing Ulric in tighter, wanting the pavement to crush the man.

 

Ulric gave a shuddering breath, his eyes gaping as the pavement enclosed tighter around his waist. Even from Harry’s position, a few feet away, he heard the cracking of bones. The blonde tipped his head back, screaming as it crushed him. But Ulric wasn’t stupid enough to stay in that position any longer than he had to.  He eventually turned into his telltale black mist, floating above the pavement he had just been trapped in. Harry eyed the cloud distrustfully, wondering how he should go about attacking the Magus in that form.

 

A strong wind?

 

Whatever he might have done, it wouldn’t have mattered, for an excruciating pain boiled inside Harry’s body.

 

He tried to keep his screams bottled, but it was too much. Whimpers of pain escaped from his lips, bloodied from his teeth gnawing on them. Ulric must have done something to make Harry’s blood boil. After all, a Magus only had to _imagine_ and whatever they wished was at their command.

 

White sparks danced across Harry’s vision and he fell to the ground. Quickly, he focused on his magic, using it to cleanse away the taint that was Ulric. His blood soon began to cool once more and he was able to breathe comfortably. No matter if he combated Ulric out of his body; he knew there _had_ to be long-term affects for his blood to be that high in temperature.

 

Roaring in irritation, Harry got up from the ground, pulling off a large section of the building next to him. The stones and glass from the windows rushed at Ulric. “Coward!” Harry yelled; his voice hoarse. “Change back, damnit!”

 

Bright green eyes watched as the rubble from the building passed straight through Ulric’s mist-like form without any harm.

 

The black mist turned from Harry, heading in the opposite direction. Narrowing his eyes, his adrenaline in full force, Harry ran after the apparating form of Ulric, his own body transforming in a weightless mist.

 

He flew through the sky, time and space blurring into one. His only target was the black mist in front of him. It probably would have been a smart thing to pay attention to his surroundings and not just Ulric in front of him. Harry realized his mistake as he soon as he found himself _stuck._

 

He struggled, his bodiless form bouncing around in the restricted space he was trapped within.

 

“Within a few minutes, your mind should be wiped clean,” the voice announced from below. Ulric appeared standing on a roof, his form a bit hunched forward. His robes looked tattered and worn. The Magus had probably broken a few ribs and crushed his torso from Harry’s earlier attack. Still, Ulric forced an air of arrogance. “By the time the shield lets you go, you’ll be a lost little white cloud… completely clueless that you, in actuality, are a human, a Magus.”

 

Ulric chuckled, bending over to clutch his chest. “Consider me generous. I’m sure you’d rather have your memories lost than face the terrible reality that your army and the Ministry as a whole caved in, forever being buried alive.”

 

The blonde gave Harry one last parting glance before he apparated, leaving Harry alone.

 

_Buried alive?_

 

Harry jittered, his mist-like form being knocked around like a bouncy ball in the bubble-like trap. The more he moved, the tighter the trap became. Each time he pushed against the sides of the trap, he could feel shocks run through him. He was sure, if he were human, his body would be taking a beating from the Magus’ magic.

 

He stopped panicking when he realized the seriousness of the situation. He had to escape in order to keep his memory, in order to save the Dark army from Ulric’s last blow. Tom had spent too many years preparing for a win to end up buried beneath time itself, to be forever buried with his victory wasn’t something Harry could even imagine.  And then there were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Both of them couldn’t die when they had a son inside Hogwarts, depending on their survival.

 

And then there were the Gryffindors fighting for the Dark, the Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws— all who had all taken a chance siding with the Dark for a cause that would create harmony between the two magics, Dark and Light.

 

And Snape.

 

They all deserved to live. Even if it cost Harry’s his life, he would rest peacefully if he knew they all survived.

 

Harry trembled, focusing his magic on the bubble. He had never cast magic in this form before. But if Ulric had been able to cast magic in this form, so could Harry.

 

The sides of the bubble expanded a bit at his magic before caving right back to their original position. Harry mentally screamed, frightened. His head was becoming light, almost airy. What if the memory charm was acting up _now_?

 

He gathered up the majority of his strength and pushed the trap with his magic. He was frantic, desperate. And the bubble popped, sending Harry falling to the ground.

 

His body became solid as he hit the ground. Luckily, he wasn’t that far up and his body rolled a few times before coming to an abrupt stop. Blood dripped from his mouth and poured from his nose. His robes were tattered, revealing his torn skin beneath.

 

Gasping for breath, Harry stared at the sky for just a brief moment.

 

His magic was shot. And his body convulsed as it tried to recover from his magical exhaustion. It had taken a lot out of Harry to escape Ulric’s trap. The thought of going back to the Ministry exhausted him.

 

Green eyes slid closed and a tear slipped from his eye, drying before it even had the chance to fall.

**\--CBS--**

 

Lucius didn’t relax his stance, even when the Light wizards hurriedly put down their wands, their hands high in their air. Their desperate whispers of surrendered danced across the top floor of the Ministry. Lucius thrashed his wand through the air, slaughtering the defenseless wizard before him.

 

Narcissa gave him a withering stare in which Lucius returned it with a careless shrug. The damned Auror had been a thorn in his side the entire battle. What’s wrong with killing the man after he surrenders?

 

_Nothing._

 

His eyes quickly took in the Dark Lord, watching as the man walked among the living and the dead, his face expressionless. Even if his face was blank, Lucius knew he was distracted. Red eyes kept glancing upward, toward the hole Harry had disappeared through not too long ago. The Dark Lord’s shoulders were stiff, tense, and prepared to leave his army behind just to look for his lover. But Lucius knew the man wouldn’t dare leave, not at such a critical point.

 

The Light had surrendered. If the Dark Lord Voldemort left, they would gain their spines back and fight with a vengeance.

 

“Congratulations,” a voice boomed across the Ministry. Slow clapping echoed through everyone’s ears and their attention immediately went of the young blonde man standing on a ledge toward the fireplaces. He wore a mocking sort of smile, glancing at every living occupant. Yet, even if he wore a smug smile, Lucius could see the wear and tear the man had gone through in the battle. Lucius frowned. Just who was this man?

 

His grey eyes shot away from the blonde and toward Voldemort, wanting to know what he made of the situation. Rather surprisingly, Voldemort appeared… if nothing short of dismayed.

 

“I applaud you at your… _brilliant_ defeat. However, you have lost countless of lives, including that of your Magus.” Lucius’ stomach dropped at the declaration just as Narcissa gasped, hands automatically going to her throat in shock. Lucius realized then, that this must be the other Magus. The elder to Harry.

 

He allowed the brief sensation of misery to wash over him before he was startled out of his musings. The Ministry began to tremble, shaking the very foundation. “Regrettably, he cannot save you. Your victory will go down with this building, I’m afraid.”  The Magus didn’t look too sympathetic as the parts of the ceiling came loose. Shouts pierced the Ministry as the occupants began to lose their sanity.

 

Narcissa clutched at Lucius’ arm. “Lucius,” she breathed. “There is no way out.”

 

He knew this of course. There were anti-apparation wards up, ones the Dark Lord couldn’t even break through unless he were to travel to the Department of Mysteries and take the wards down from there. There wouldn’t be enough _time_ to do something like that.

 

“Try your best to shield yourself from the boulders, Cissy.” Lucius raised a shield around both himself and Narcissa. His wife followed suit before the rest of the survivors took a leaf from their book.

 

Voldemort, on the other hand, had fury written across his face. He didn’t try to stop the rubble, or shield himself; instead, he decided that the Magus was the solution to the crisis. Lucius watched, intrigued, as the Dark Lord got a good hit on the blonde Magus. The blonde stumbled, losing concentration for a brief moment, before narrowing his eyes on the Dark Lord. The rubble coming down soon turned to large boulders, a dangerous sign that the roof would cave shortly.

 

The Dark Lord never stopped his attack. Each boulder that fell near him was then tossed to the Magus. Crimson eyes all but glowed as he batted the heavy rocks, intent to smash the man.

 

Lucius took a deep breath, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand at the immense _power_ the Dark Lord was using. But even Lucius knew, no matter how powerful a wizard may be, they were no match for Magi. But the man was a raging _beast_. There were no emotions coming from Voldemort, instead, a fierce determination clouded both his face and his magic. It rang throughout the Ministry, setting many wizards’ teeth on edge.

 

The Dark Lord’s magic snaked through everyone’s feet, looking similar to glowing white lightning streaks as it filled in the cracks opening up on the floor. Through awed eyes, Lucius observed as Voldemort threw up a powerful shield. It danced higher above everyone else’s shield, pulverizing most of the boulders to small pebbles as they passed through the man’s magic. Hope flickered across many wizards’ faces as they believed Voldemort could get one up on the Magus.

 

That hope quickly turned into overwhelming despair as the Magus suspended Voldemort’s shield.

 

The ceiling collapsed.

 

“Lucius,” Narcissa whispered, full of affection and fear. Her hand gripped his arm.

 

Lucius raised his shield, knowing that it wouldn’t work, but still hoping for the best as the entire ceiling caved in.

 

And then his magic was all but _sucked_ out from his wand, his shield disappearing, along with all of those around him. Time, in itself, seemed to slow, and the crumbling ceiling came to a stop, suspending in midair.

 

Lucius’ hair and cloak whipped around him as a sudden and strong breeze swept through the Ministry. His hand moved, intent on brushing his hair away from his face, but his hand moved slow, as it were trudging through time. It was calm serenity, almost surreal.

 

His eyes took in the rest of the Ministry. The ceiling, so close to the collapsing on the inhabitants, started to glow a bright white. If Lucius’ eyelids had been working properly he would have shut them at the intensity of the light. The room grew warm as the ceiling slowly began to arch back up, away from the frozen wizards.

 

The hair whipping in his eyes made it difficult to see, but Lucius could make out the lithe figure of Harry Potter.

 

The sight before him made it seem as if it wasn’t meant for mortals’ eyes.

 

Harry Potter was death itself; all powerful and beautiful.

 

Lucius felt his breath hitch as he watched Potter gracefully walk across the Ministry floor. He looked dead on his feet with his robes torn and ripped, blood framing across his face, and scorch marks about his body. And yet, the boy’s porcelain skin all but reflected off the magic he wore, making it hard for Lucius to really _look_ at him. The boy’s eyes were a determined shade of green, directed straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular. Lucius knew he would never forget such a breathtaking and uncanny scene.

 

Potter’s magic was an intense white as it danced across the Ministry floor. Rocks and boulders rained up to the ceiling, looking far too dreamlike. Slowly, but surely, the Ministry healed itself, appearing brand new.

 

Up above, white and glowing waves sealed the ceiling before disappearing.

 

But there were still a few large rocks piled on the ground. Lucius should have known Potter wouldn’t have forgotten them. Because within the next second, the pile of rubble was swept from the floor. They revolved around the small Magus, rivaling a treacherous tornado.

 

And then, they _flew_ in the direction of the blonde Magus, who was just as frozen as the rest of them.

 

Time unfroze.

 

**\--CBS--**

 

Harry knew he wouldn’t last much longer. In fact, if his body had its way, he would have been unconscious as soon as he escaped Ulric’s trap.

 

Instead, he had mustered enough power and stopped the Ministry from caving just in time. Granted, he had stolen a bit of magic from the surrounding wizards’ but it was necessary. They would be weak for a few days, but it was either their exhaustion or their lives.

 

Harry’s body shook crazily as he stood on the Ministry floor, eyeing the pile of rubble on top of Ulric. He knew the man got hit, but…

 

Ignoring the wizards around him as if they weren’t there, Harry stood on a lone boulder, crouching, almost laying on top of it in fatigue as he levitated it. He was raised in the air slowly, knowing his magic was at its breaking point.

 

Green eyes took in the pile of rocks. “Ulric,” Harry sang, his face crunching up in dizziness and weariness.

 

Perhaps it was because he was so tired that he wasn’t prepared for the abrupt action. Whatever it was, he couldn’t defend himself fast enough as the pile of rubble exploded. One, in particular came flying at him, and Harry had enough reflex to stand up so the boulder wouldn’t collide with his head.

 

His body took the hit hard and he fell off his levitated boulder. Admittedly, the freefall felt _so_ good.

 

Magic, Harry knew to be Tom’s, embraced and cushioned him before he could come in contact with the floor. Even if Tom stopped the majority of the compact, it didn’t stop him from hitting the ground rigidly. And with his already bruised body, it shocked him to the core.

 

Rolling his head to the side, his eyes caught the sight of a black mist racing down the levels of the Ministry. The man was too wounded, too weak— there would be no more threat.

 

“Mr. Potter,” it was Snape, but his voice sounded so far away. The man came to a stop beside Harry, hurriedly going to his knees.

 

Harry gave a grim smile. He couldn’t feel his body. Nothing but numbness. The same numbness his right hand went through when it was burned.

 

“Harry.” Another voice. This time, cold fingers curled around his face and Harry closed his eyes in reassurance that it had been Voldemort.

 

They were alive.

 

That’s all that really mattered.

 

He finally allowed himself to let go of reality and plunge in the darkness.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

_**Can’t Break the Silence Epilogue** _

The sunlight beat down on the grounds of Hogwarts, highlighting the green grass and the creating a halo around the castle.

 

It was a beautiful day, even for the ripe temperature of the upcoming winter.

 

“You were always there for me,” a man whispered softly, glancing at the tomb besides the lake. The tomb truly was beautiful. Its white marble finish reflected off the ripples of the lake. The sun gleamed above, making the reflection of the water more noticeable, more stunning. His pale face was reflected back at him and he looked away, miserable at his solemn expression.

 

Only someone important enough could be buried on the grounds of Hogwarts. It was never done before. But Hogwarts was considered the dead wizards’ home, his salvation.

 

“I guess in the end, you disappointed me. I was so angry, so betrayed by what you knew and hid from me.” Green eyes turned back to Dumbledore’s tomb. He sat on the grassy hill, his toes near the cold lake. His body trembled at the cold and the soreness. He was still weak, still torn and scarred. A man across the lake noticed his weakness and began to walk over.

  
But Harry shook his head, wanting to be alone a few more minutes.

 

Lord Voldemort hesitated, crossing his arms over his chest as he allowed Harry more time.

 

“But now I understand why you did what you did,” Harry began softly, his voice almost carried away by the strong wind. His fingers played with the ripe red rose he had brought for the dead Headmaster. “You wanted to keep me oblivious to the world around me. You didn’t want me to follow in my parents’ footsteps. That’s why you were so allowable of me going away to play Quidditch. But even if you thought what the Ministry was doing was right, I knew you felt as if there was a chance you could have been wrong.”

 

He looked sideways at the white tomb. “I knew you loved me, truly. And despite our opposite sides in the war, I loved you just as much.” A bitter smile spread across Harry’s lips as he remembered Dumbledore and his odd ticks. He hoped the man had his socks and his lemon drops in abundance on the other side.

 

“I hope you are at peace, old man.”

 

Reaching his arm over, he ignored the pain, and set the rose down next to the marble tomb. Its leaves fluttered in the wind and Harry eyed it thoughtfully.

 

He had just woken up yesterday. A full _week_ after the war had been won. According to the Healer, Harry had been in a magical coma as his core tried to heal itself from his magical exhaustion. Not only that, but his body had taken quite a beating during the battle. He had broken many bones, many ribs, and his skull fractured. Luckily, there weren’t any long-lasting affects. The only physical reminder of the war was his right hand he still had to try to heal.

 

He slumped against the ground, finding himself too tired to hold his body up. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Voldemort hurried over. He repressed a snort.

 

When he found out Tom had arranged for Dumbledore’s body to be sent to McGonagal, Harry had been surprised. The Dark Lord than admitted that Albus had been buried at Hogwarts. And Harry insisted on visiting the grave. Tom, of course, had refused, saying Harry was not healed enough.

 

Eventually, Tom had caved in pathetically.

 

Green eyes blinked up at Voldemort as the man towered above him, a light concern over his features. When he saw that Harry was only tired, his concern turned into annoyance. “Are you finished yet? I told you, you were too weak to travel.”

 

“Yes, and you are always right,” Harry quipped back, his voice lacking its usual strength. He sighed, looking passed Voldemort’s cloak and at Hogwarts. “Will you, my all powerful and beautiful Dark Lord, allow me to see Ron and Hermione?”

 

A sneer curled Voldemort’s lips. “You’ve already seen them yesterday when you woke up, brat.”

 

It was true. Harry had been surprised to see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny around his bedside when he woke up at the Malfoy manor. At first he had been wary on what they would think of him joining the Dark, but he hadn’t needed to worry. They had only been worried about him, and horrified about what the Unspeakables had done. The only one Harry was unsure about, was Hermione. The girl didn’t know yet, but Voldemort planned to do a lot of adjustments with Muggle-borns.

 

Such as taking them away from their families as children and raising them in the wizarding world.

 

Harry grinned.

 

Now wasn’t the time to worry. “If you must take away my fun,” Harry muttered.

 

Tom raised his eyebrow. “I want you in bed, Harry. You haven’t fully recovered yet...” The man trailed off as an owl came flying toward him. With reflexes that would envy most Seekers, Tom snatched the letter from the owl’s talons and opened the parchment.

 

Harry lay there, enjoying the sun on his face.

 

They had won the war.

 

It was odd, thinking that. Of course, they still had a lot to do in the wizarding world. But they no longer had a corruptive government or men and women in experimental prisons. They, however, _did_ have a Magus somewhere out there. Harry hadn’t seen or heard hide of Ulric. He wondered how long he had until he saw the blonde again.

 

Tom gave a deep sigh, his face turning weary. Harry averted his eyes from the sky, watching as the Dark Lord rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What’s wrong?” Harry questioned. So far, Tom had treated him like a partner in his reconstruction of the wizarding world. Harry hoped it continued or he’d have the man’s head. He was suspicious that Tom was withholding things from Harry just because he didn’t want to overtax Harry in his current condition. “Tom?” Harry pestered, his voice turning hard.

 

“I’m afraid you’re needed at the healing chamber, Harry.”

 

Harry grunted, sitting up from the grassy hill and observing the parchment in Tom’s hands. “I thought the surviving prisoners were sent to St. Mungo’s.”

 

“They were,” Tom agreed. “However, some of the more serious patients, including the creatures, couldn’t handle such a move.”

 

It took Harry a moment to remember he had to breathe. “Remus?” his voice hitched, sounding remarkably like a boy going through puberty.  Tom’s red eyes surveyed Harry. “Tom. I swear by Merlin that I’ll cut off your balls if you don’t—,”

 

“Remus Lupin,” Tom started. “Is in serious condition,” the man finished off softly. He seemed hesitant to add the last bit. “He has no living family. He’s asked for you.”

 

Harry went cold, his only hand trembling. “Please, take me to him.” His lithe frame shook as he forced himself to stand. Voldemort was standing stiffly, his face expressionless. “Tom, please. Maybe I can heal him, I—,”

 

He was cut off rather abruptly by a hand enclosing around his wrist rather tightly. Tom tugged Harry’s body closer to him, his face etched of threatening stone. “You will _not_. Your magical core depleted completely during the last battle. I will _not_ have you die over a man you haven’t seen since you were a mere _toddler_.” The man looked furious, his red eyes all but glowing. The hold on Harry’s wrist was incredibly tight.

 

“Fine,” Harry accepted. “I won’t. Please, just bring me to him.”

 

Tom drank in Harry’s expression before loosening his hold. With his opposite hand, he grabbed the portkey in his pocket. Clutching Harry to him, Voldemort activated the portkey and they were gone within seconds, leaving behind the rustling red rose at Dumbledore’s grave.

 

**\--CBS--**

Like Tom said earlier, many of the prisoners were transferred to St. Mungo’s. The only ones left were the ones who had white sheets over their bodies, completely covering their corpse from prying eyes. Harry held his breath as he passed a few of the dead prisoners, his chest twisting in despair.

 

 _You could have never saved them all, Harry_. He tried to remind himself.

 

“He’s in there,” Cormac greeted them, motioning for Harry to continue on. Tom paused, allowing Harry another moment of privacy. The Dark Lord quietly whispered with Cormac, but Harry was too distracted to listen to the two.

 

Up ahead, he saw the only two living bodies among the corpses. One was a resting man with long black hair. He appeared to be a vampire in Harry’s eyes. And the other… the other didn’t look as restful. Harry paused, his heart in his throat as he looked down at the man his parents and he had so desperately wanted to save.

 

“Remus?” His voice was unsure, quiet.

 

Only one amber eye opened. The other was sealed shut with wounds scattering across half his face. Harry could see salve on Remus’ face. It appeared as if Cormac had tried his hardest to save Remus. But Remus had more pressing issues than losing one eye. The werewolf was half transformed. His nose, his ears, and probably a bit more of his body underneath the sheet were all werewolf.

 

_Merlin._

 

Despite all this, Remus offered Harry a small smile, his lips torn beyond repair. “Harry,” the voice was raspy and sounded as if it hurt Remus to speak. “You look remarkably like your mother… yet there is a bit of James I see.”

 

Harry blinked away his tears, slowly easing down on his knees besides Remus. “What did those bastards do to you?” Harry whispered, feeling helpless.

 

Remus growled in an animalistic enthusiasm, his neck and head twitching, like a nervous tick. Harry refused to back away, instead, he remained still. “It’s in the past, Harry, too much horror to recall.” Remus took a trembling breath, his eyebrows furrowing in pain. “I asked for Sirius and your parents first,” the man began softly. “The Healer confirmed they were dead.” His single amber eye blinked up at Harry. “I’m sorry for your loss. When did they…”

 

Harry struggled to swallow the grief. “My parents, they were killed shortly before I started Hogwarts and Sirius died a few months ago.” He sniffed, leaning closer to Remus. “They both were aware of the Ministry’s corruption. That’s what led to their death.”

 

Remus gave a small smile. “The Healer told me you’ve been looking for me this whole time. I’m afraid I wasn’t conscious of the world around me when we were rescued.”

 

“I had to save you,” Harry said, his voice sounding all child.

 

“And I am _so_ grateful to be rescued, Harry. You have no idea how at rest I am that the war is over. I am blessed to be at peace. So grateful.” Remus whispered, his eye closing once again. “I just wish I could give you a true family.” The voice was wearing thin, as if Death were courting Remus at the very moment.

 

And Harry wanted nothing more than that family. He wanted Remus to experience the life he’d missed.

 

Harry gave a choked sob, reaching forward with trembling hands. “I can heal you,” Harry spoke hastily, leaning forward and placing his hands on Remus’ chest. “I… I have magic, I can—,”

 

Clawed hands curled around his own, stopping him. The werewolf’s hands were brittle and scarred as they clutched at Harry’s wrists loosely. “All the magic in the world could never heal me. I have mental wounds that are too deep to repair.” 

 

Looking into Remus’ haunted gaze, Harry realized he had been naïve to think he could heal Remus and everything would go back to normal. He should have known years and _years_ in captivity would affect more than the physical body.

 

“You… you asked me here for a reason, didn’t you?” Harry didn’t stop the tears from staining his cheeks.

 

“I did,” Remus’ hands shuddered in weakness before they went limp. The werewolf’s breathing grew a bit harsher, almost if his lungs were rattling. “I wanted to thank you, I wanted to say goodbye. I cannot continue on like this Harry. And for that, I’m sorry.”

 

 _Mercy kill._ The man was in too much pain to continue surviving. Harry bowed his head, trying to control the tears that wanted to evolve into sobs.

 

He looked up again, giving Remus a watery smile. “Say hello to my parents and Sirius, will you?”

 

“I will,” Remus muttered tiredly.

 

Harry reached over and placed his hand on the werewolf’s forehead. “Sleep, Remus, relax.” He controlled his tears as Remus slowly shut his eyes. With his magic, Harry eased into Remus body, stopping the heart gradually. It was a painless death, a peaceful death, and that was all Harry could offer to the man.

 

Harry stroked Remus’ forehead once before pulling up the white sheet and covering the werewolf.

 

He then buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the pure emotion of despair. 

 

Warm arms enclosed around him, holding him tightly. Harry dropped his hands, replacing them with Voldemort’s chest. He allowed the man to hold him securely, realizing, again, how much Tom became his anchor. Spidery fingers stroked his hair and Harry smiled, his tears drying.

 

“I shouldn’t have brought you.” The man started off slowly.

 

“No,” Harry pulled away, looking up at crimson eyes. “I needed to see him. He was at peace. He was happy.” Harry looked at Remus’ sheet-clad form, giving a bitter smile. “He held on this long for someone to rescue him. That’s all the peace he needed.”

 

Tom helped Harry stand, the two of them slowly walking toward the exit of the healing chamber. Harry nodded once at Cormac, grateful for all the man had done. The Healer bowed at the waist, a smile tugging on his lips.

 

“I think you and I should go flying,” Harry whispered as they were out of the healing chamber. “I haven’t gone flying for a long while.” He thought back to his days of a Quidditch Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons. A smile tugged at his lips. He always felt free when he was flying.

 

“It will probably do you some good to get on a broom. Of course, you wouldn’t go too fast, would you?” Tom flashed Harry and expectant look.

 

“Of course not,” Harry spoke back, giving the man a knowing grin.

 

“However, I have something else in mind to take precedence over flying.”  Voldemort teased, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. His hand splayed Harry’s cheek as his fingertips danced lightly down the younger man’s jaw line.

 

“Oh?” Harry felt his mood soar. “And what may that be? Hopefully it will ‘do me some good’.”

 

“It will do _me_ some good for putting up with your cheeky arse.” The taller wizard leaned down to capture Harry’s lips with his own.

 

Harry melted. He was entirely grateful to have Tom in his life. The man had done so much for Harry, even putting up with him in his earlier years when he had been a lazy, insufferable child.

 

His words, not Harry’s.

 

Even if he got his happy ending, Harry knew _life_ could never offer such flawless fairytales. There would always be sacrifices to be made and losses to experience, no matter how hard you fought to keep them.

  
Remus and Dumbledore were solid examples of that.

 

 **End**.


End file.
